


Best Laid Plans

by fionnabhair



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-24 06:45:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 24,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8361604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fionnabhair/pseuds/fionnabhair
Summary: She’s knocked up with Dan Egan’s baby.  What the fuck is she going to do now?





	1. Chapter One

The day Amy finds out she’s pregnant, it feels sickly inevitable.

Of course.  Of course she would only become pregnant under the worst possible circumstances – she probably should have been expecting it.

She’s been exhausted and irritable for weeks – going to bed early every night and still waking up tired.  It’s like the tiredness has knit itself into her bones, a constant drain on everything – it reminds her of the last weeks of both the Presidential campaigns she’d worked… and that’s not how she should feel when she’s only working ten or eleven hour days.

She’s known for weeks that something was… off, for lack of a better term, but she had pushed the thought away, resolutely refused to look at it, it was unthinkable.  Besides, it was probably just stress.

It was only when she couldn’t zip up her favourite dress that Amy was forced to admit (to herself) that it was just about possible that something else was going on.  So she picks out a different dress, goes to the awful drinks reception (something to do with women in politics), and buys a pregnancy test on the way home.

She’s surprisingly calm as she waits for it to work – her hands don’t shake, her breathing is steady, and she brushes her teeth and removes her make-up, refusing to be distracted from her task by the timer going off on her phone.

The little pink plus sign stares up at her, and Amy backs away from it, leaning against the bathroom door (the blessedly firm, upright door).  Before she’s fully thought through her next step, her phone is in her hand and she’s calling Dan – she needs to hear his voice, she’ll have some clue about what to do when she hears his voice.

“I need to tell you something,” she says, as soon as he picks up, and it’s the strangest thing, her voice doesn’t sound panicked at all.

“As delighted as I am to hear from you finally, Amy, I’m kind of in the middle of something here.”  There’s a lot of noise on the line, and she thinks he must be out, in a bar or a club or something.  “Can’t it wait?  Until I don’t know, the end of the world, or whenever I give a shit?”

So.  He’s still pissed. 

It’s not entirely a surprise.  But the sound of his voice – sarcastic, insincere, generally shitty – steadies her all the same.

“No,” she says.  “It’s fine.  Forget I called, it doesn’t matter.”

She hangs up, and keeps staring at the pregnancy test.  She’s knocked up with Dan Egan’s baby.  What the fuck is she going to do now?

 

* * *

 

 

It was on a late afternoon in May when she and Buddy broke things off.  Which… it wasn’t how Amy had _planned_ for the conversation to go, but… she’d called him to thank him for the flowers he’d sent her, and they’d discussed when she might be able to visit him in Nevada again, and he’d said something about how they could go view houses… and then it had come out.  His plan.   How he was so smitten and loved her and wanted to marry her and have little cowboy-boot wearing babies with her.

Amy knows – with a certainty and clarity that’s rare for her – that she would rather spend fifty years living alone in her apartment, than live that life.  She likes Buddy – he’s nice, and kind, and good to her – but what he wants and what she wants… she is never going to be able to compromise enough to make them compatible.  (And she shouldn’t have to).

She’d been walking to the store as they spoke, and when she hangs up she just… keeps going.  She feels strangely sad – it’s the most polite, least painful break-up she’s ever had, and in its own way, that hurts.

So she wanders, down streets and past restaurants, looking at people smiling and socialising and wondering what the hell is wrong with her.  She’s just dumped a man who is objectively the kindest, and most gentle she’s ever been with – and she can’t even find it within herself to be upset about it.

When she sees Dan, it is a genuine coincidence.  They’d carpooled, so she did know where he lived – but she hadn’t been following any conscious route, her mind too taken up with thoughts of Buddy. 

She sees him walking towards her, and says his name, stupidly (as though it’s a surprise to find him on his own street).  His head snaps up immediately, and he looks almost pleased.  “Amy,” he says, with that smile in his voice that she’d sometimes thought (hoped) was just for her.  “I haven’t seen you in months.”

There was a reason for that.

“I was just… in the neighbourhood,” she says (and winces.  It’s not the stupidest excuse she’s ever come up with, but it’s close).

“Well come on up, have a beer with me.  Have two.”  He’s grinning at her, and the warmth on his face could make her insides feel all trembly if she let it.  “You probably need it.”

So, she does.  She lets him walk her to his door, and usher her inside with a hand on her back, though she knows she probably shouldn’t.

She sits on the sofa beside him, crossing her legs under her and listening to his stories about CBS (and telling him stories about her work at the DNC), and drinking the beers he keeps handing her. 

The thing about Dan – the thing that’s easy to forget when he’s being awful – is that, strangely, being around him is actually relaxing.  She doesn’t have to pretend to be nice, or kind, or softly feminine – he doesn’t care.  Amy’s spent what feels like half her life conforming to the expectations of men (because they get so _hurt_ when women don’t), tying herself in knots trying to be sufficiently feminine that they won’t feel emasculated, but not so feminine that they won’t take her seriously.  But there is nothing she could say or do that would ever shock Dan, and that makes him a _relief_ – he’s so supremely sure of himself, she doesn’t have to bother with the impossible balancing act.

He’s peacocking, definitely eager to impress her with his new job, which… well, he’s always done that, but he’s doing it even more than usual.  Amy’s tempted to tell him that he doesn’t have to work that hard… but she doesn’t (she likes listening to him.  It distracts her from her thoughts).  It takes a while for him to run out of steam, but he does eventually, and asks in a slightly acid tone, “So how’s Woody?”

“Seriously,” she says, “Are you really doing that?”

“I can’t be the first to tell you you’re dating the cowboy from Toy Story.”

“Whatever this is,” Amy says, pointing at him.  “It is not a good look for you.  And I’m not dating him.”

“Oh?”  (And had she been slightly more alert, Amy would have been unnerved by the gleam that came into his eyes.)

“No.  I’m not.  Any more...” she probably shouldn’t tell him this, but she continues on in a small voice.  “He proposed – kind of – and, I don't, that’s not…so I ended it.  It was a very strange conversation.”

“Well, turns out he’s not as stupid as he looks.”  Amy makes a face at him as he continues.  “He wanted to lock it down before you came to your senses.  Smart.”

“You do realise people exist who _don’t_ treat relationships like a Machiavellian game of chess, right?  You know you’re the freak?”

“Doesn’t make me wrong, baby,” Dan says, and Amy rolls her eyes.  They keep talking, and it’s only when her phone dings (a message from Buddy, saying he’ll drop her things off the next time he’s in DC) that Amy realises the time. 

“It’s almost midnight.  I should go – before I turn into a pumpkin.”  Dan doesn’t say anything, just looks at her, his gaze making her face hot, as though there’s an actual weight in it, pinning her to her seat.  Her voice sounds worryingly unsure as she says, “I should really go.”

And then Dan’s mouth is on hers, his hand firm and strong on her neck, his thumb stroking her skin, and… everything about this kiss is so gentle, it’s the last thing she ever expected from him.

“You’re right,” he says, when it’s ended, and when Amy has summoned up the courage to open her eyes and actually look at him.  “You really should.”

She could do that – she could pick up her bag and find her shoes and leave – and Dan would let her, he’s not one to push when he’s been rebuffed – and the kiss will become just another moment they don’t talk about (there are a lot of those).

But they both know she won’t.

Slowly, very slowly, Amy slides one hand down his arm, feeling the hairs stand against her palm.  “I really should,” she says, twining her fingers with his, and looking up at him through her eyelashes. 

When he kisses her this time, there’s no gentleness.  He hauls her into his lap, and it’s almost painful the way his hands grab at her, but she doesn’t care, she’s just as desperate…

It’s a miracle they even make it to his bed.

 

* * *

 

 

The funny thing, the funny thing is that Amy’s _good_ at being pregnant.  All the things women are supposed to be naturally good at – being sensitive, caring about the needs of others, laughing at men’s jokes, doing their own manicures – she’s struggled with them her whole life.  But pregnancy, the most feminine of feminine things, is actually easy for her.  Her morning sickness is minimal, and she’s used to working while worn out, so that’s not a problem… and fortunately the DNC is gearing up to fight for paid maternity leave, so that part is sorted.

She doesn’t exactly _like_ the way her body stretches and bloats around her pregnancy, but… she doesn’t hate it either?  It’s kind of freeing actually – she can stop caring about her weight, about how she looks, her body is doing something more important.  (She still does her best to present herself well, because it’s a job requirement, but she can let herself stop caring about it beyond that).

She invests in five or six black maternity dresses, and hopes everyone will just assume she’s gained weight, for the first while at least.  Partly, it’s because for a month after she sees the test she’s not sure what she’s going to do.

She hasn’t seen Dan since… well, since the morning after (and given how apocalypticly terrible that was, she’s not exactly surprised), and she… she can’t talk to him until she’s made a decision.  Because if he says what she thinks he’ll say… she doesn’t trust herself to handle it.  (For similar, but opposite reasons, she can’t talk to her family either).

She knows she’s dithering, and she knows she can’t pretend someone or something else will make the decision for her, and lord knows, she never, ever wanted to end up like her sister…

But if she’s ever going to do it, it’s a good time – the party is out of power, so opportunities are limited right now, but the baby will be two years old by primary season, and therefore more than old enough to be dumped in daycare.  It’ll mean possibly missing some of the run up to the midterms, but… she can still play a low-key strategic role, and… if she waits, waits a year, or two or three, until she meets Tall, Dark and Not a Complete Shit, then she’ll miss the next election (she’s _not_ missing the next election) (who cares if everyone she knows would be horrified by her scheduling her fertility around the electoral cycle, if no one else would ever even have the thought?)… Besides, she’s in her mid-thirties now, she can’t wait forever.

She honestly hadn’t thought she wanted children – she’d really thought it wasn’t even on the table for her – but… odd though it may sound, it was Buddy who’d made her realise… maybe she did.  Maybe she wanted a baby and a husband and a fucking life beyond her job (okay, as well as her job) (okay, on the side of her job).  All the men she knew had that – assumed they could have that – why the fuck shouldn’t she, when she was more talented than all of them?

It’s only when she rehearses all of these arguments over lunch with Sue that it really hits her – she’s having this baby.  The realisation almost sends her to the Ladies Room to hyperventilate.  It is quite possibly the _stupidest_ decision she’s ever made (and that’s saying something), but… even knowing that, she’s doing it anyway.

So, she tells her family – her parents are almost but not quite overjoyed, (and they do their best _not_ to ask who the father is, which she appreciates).  Sophie is unbearable, but that’s nothing more than she expected.  She tells Selina, in the course of a long phone conversation about how they can arrange for Tom James’ Senate seat to be primaried.  Selina doesn’t really react, but a few days later, Amy receives a pre-natal hamper with a card signed by Gary, so obviously she noticed.

Amy even takes Buddy out– she’s almost six months in now, and sporting an undeniable bump – she wants him to hear it from her, because… she doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea about whose baby it is.  (He would feel obligated to do 'the right thing').

She realises it’s possible that a popular DC bar was maybe not the best place for this conversation, when she and Buddy keep getting interrupted by well-wishers – Candi Caruso, Congressman Peirce, the Speaker’s Chief of Staff.  It’s her bad luck – her rotten, terrible, no good, very bad luck – that Dan appears (out of fucking nowhere), just as she’s explained to Buddy that the father is an old friend of hers with whom she has a…complicated relationship.  (She smirks even as she says it; complicated is a word for teenage entanglements, her relationship with Dan is fucking bubonic).

Buddy has taken her hand in his, and he’s reassuring her that she’s going to be a ‘great Mom’ (which she would take comfort in if she could only believe it), when Dan interrupts them.

She’s seen him angry before of course, seen him ready to rip people’s throats out, but never, never with her.  Oh, they’ve had shouting matches and vehement disagreements and loud, _loud_ differences of opinion, but there had always been, Amy doesn’t know how to describe it, something playful in it (at least on his side) (which is why she’d usually wound up wanting to slap him).

He makes some comment about Woody, makes some comment about the two of them being a lovely, happy couple, and Amy’s up and out of her seat in a heartbeat.  She doesn’t need or want Buddy to hear this conversation.

She drags Dan out onto the street (though, seeing as she’s six months pregnant and wearing heels, she’s very aware that she’s only able to do this because he lets her).  She doesn’t even care that half the people in the bar are staring at them.  She grabs his tie, to pull him down to her level.  “You need to calm the fuck down,” she says.  “Why do you even care if I –”

“So you’re running back to –”

“No,” she says.  “And it wouldn’t have anything to do with you, if I did.”

“What’s wrong, Amy,” he says, “Afraid I’m going to make you cry?”

She goes to slap him before she's even thought about it – it’s just like him to throw it back in her face at the first opportunity – but Dan catches her arm before the hit connects.  “I don’t know how it’s possible,” she says, and she’s so angry she’s shaking, “But you keep finding ways to be even worse than I already think you are.  Stop it.  Please, just stop.”

“Whatever,” Dan says, though he does let go of her arm (manhandling women isn’t something he’s really comfortable with, let alone pregnant women).  “You still love me.”

“And what?  Do you imagine that gives you some kind of power over me, like I’m not going to tell you when you’re being a shit?  Cause I can do that till the end of time.  Leave Buddy alone.  He’s not relevant to you, he hasn’t done anything to you.”

“Yes he has, he – ”

“What?  What has he done?  Other than exist in your vicinity, which, frankly, is more of a punishment for him than for you.  I could understand it from _him_ – you’re the one who nailed his girlfriend the day she dumped him – but you, what have –”

“Oh, _did_ I?”

Amy cringes.  She hadn’t ever intended to let that little titbit drop.  “It wasn’t like that,” she snaps, and Dan just looks smug (smugger).  “Look,” she begins, “I have to tell you something.”

“Oh, are you running back to Nevada?  Going to make a life of it in Carson City with your happy little family?  I mean, I know you love me, Amy, but that reaction seems a little excessive.”

She inhales, trying desperately to remember that he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know yet, he can’t realise what he’s saying, how much it’s digging at her, but… well, she’s never been all that patient to begin with.

Congressman Furlong’s assistant, Will, steps into the pause that stretches out between them, on his way out of the restaurant.  “I just wanted to say congratulations Amy.  You really do look great.”

“Oh yeah,” Dan says, “She’s fucking glowing.”

“You know what?  I can’t deal with this.  Go find someone else to torment.  Nice to see you Will.”

She walks away from him – knowing he’s looking after her, probably regretting her ruined figure.  (Which… good.  She hopes he hates it, hopes it’s a punishment to look at her).

 

 

* * *

 

In retrospect, Amy’s pretty certain that she conceived from the second time.

The first time had been fast, and giddy, and Dan kept making her laugh… and they’d used a condom.  And afterwards, when the sweat was cooling on her body, and panic was starting to percolate in her stomach, she’d rolled away from him, preparing herself to get up and leave.  But Dan had moved with her, spooning her, one heavy arm over her waist, and muttered “Stay,” in her ear.

So she had.

It wasn’t the worst mistake she’d made that evening, but it was probably the most fateful.

She’d taken his hand in both of hers and tucked it under her cheek.  And soon – sooner than she’d have thought – she was asleep, deep, deep asleep.

Only something woke her, she’s not sure what, but something, at an unnatural hour of the morning.  It was still dark, pitch black even, in Dan’s room, and she’d taken a breath or two, all contentment.

In truth, she was still at least half asleep, and she’d stroked his arm with no thought beyond enjoying the touch of his skin.  But either he was already awake, or it was enough to wake him, because he moved then, tilting her head back and kissing her deeply.  His hand stayed on her jaw as they kissed, their tongues touching softly, (and his mouth tasted like whiskey, all fire and a unique tang of his own, one that made her shiver low down inside).

She couldn’t see his face – it was too dark, she couldn’t see anything – and somehow that made it better, enhancing the taste and touch of him.  As they continued kissing (almost like a conversation), his hand slid down to caress her body, and Amy moaned, but that didn’t deter him, if anything… 

Dan pressed his mouth against her neck, and then her breast, and Amy tried to say something, but couldn’t even find words, overwhelmed and arching her body into those clever hands of his.

It felt like he was everywhere, squeezing, licking, stroking, sucking, and it was too much and not nearly enough, all at the same time.  Her whole skin felt awake and sensitive in a way it never did usually – making her aware of Dan’s firm body everywhere it touched hers, of his breathing, his rasps and pants behind her.

She needed _more_ than to be touched, and so she reached down to put him in the right position (it’s so dark, she has to do it just by touch), and he grunted – not surprised, she didn’t think, but…maybe?  He pushed into her, and she gasped – it was a great angle, she could feel all of him – and for the first few thrusts, she kissed him, taking his mouth, the same way he…

She put a hand up to stroke his hair, reaching behind her, and kept it there – it gave her leverage.  The slap of his flesh against hers seemed incredibly loud in the dark room, and the faster Dan moved the more she wanted him (she’d envelop him completely if it were only possible).

Amy lost time almost, feeling her orgasm coming from far off, a wave cresting and falling.  Dan started to touch her, and she whimpered, the pressure of his fingers bringing her closer to the edge as he sped up again, the rhythm almost lost as his hips jerked into her.  He bit down on her neck when he came, and that was it, that was enough, Amy threw her head back, clutching at him, needing to feel earthed as the pleasure jolted through her again and again.

When she came back to herself, Dan was still breathing heavily behind her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hip, probably leaving marks (and normally she’d skin him alive for that, but somehow she didn’t really mind).  She moved her hand onto his face, and he turned and kissed her palm.  When her heart had finally stopped racing, she said, “That was…”

But she couldn’t finish.  She didn’t have words for what that was.

“Yeah,” Dan said, and he sounded just as wrecked as she did, which was a relief.  He turned her over then, so she was facing him, and kissed her, his hands sliding up to cup her face.  She cooperated (for once), feeling light and airy and…and _happy_. 

But then Dan stiffened – and not in a good way – and pulled away.  “What’s wrong?” Amy said.  She couldn’t see his face, couldn’t read him, so she needed him to tell her.

“Your face is wet.”  He sounded horrified.

“No it’s not.”

He lifted her hands up to her face then, and Amy felt it, the dampness on her cheeks and temples where she’d… she’d come so hard she _cried_.  Dan’s silence was ominous, and she rushed to reassure him.  “It’s all right,” she said, and he sighed.  “I mean, it’s not bad.  I don’t think.  It’s… it’s never happened before.”  She could actually _feel_ the smirk starting to form on his face and added warningly, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, and I can practically _hear_ all the things you’re not saying.”

“Oh, Ames, come on,” he said, stroking her back and shoulder, his voice a low, smug rumble in his chest, “Can’t I enjoy it, just a –”

She cut him off with a kiss (he sounded so _proud_ of himself, so happy), and then she couldn’t help herself – she’d wanted to touch him for so long – she kissed his cheeks and his jaw and his forehead, sliding her fingers through his hair and across his chest.  “You are the worst, you know that, the absolute worst –”

“You love it.”

She had no response, and so Amy let him fold her up in his arms, kissing the top of her head as he did so, his skin warm and smooth under her.  She fell asleep like that, cuddled up to him in a way she usually found intolerable. 

It was only ten weeks later, staring down the barrel of a positive pregnancy test, that Amy remembered they hadn’t used a condom.

 

 

* * *

 

Her boss is being interviewed on Dan’s show, and Amy has to go along (as moral support as much as anything).  She texts him to ask if they can talk after the recording is done.

The situation is ludicrous, she knows that.  She’s seven months pregnant with his child and he doesn’t know.  (Which, it amazes her that he doesn’t at least _suspect_ , it’s not like it’s hard to figure out).  (But, then a part of her wonders if perhaps… he just doesn’t _want_ to know.  He barely seems to want anything to do with her).  (Which will be… well it won’t be _fine_ , but she’ll deal with it.  She wasn’t stupid enough to expect him to come riding to her rescue).

She’s been putting off speaking to him – of all her pregnancy conversations, she knows this is going to be the hardest – and she's so nervous she actually tries to come up with a game plan for the conversation.  Though, really, it’s probably futile – no one else has ever been able to sidetrack her into incoherent rage as effectively as he has.  But no matter what awful thing he says, she knows she has to tell him – keeping it a secret would be an unforgivably shitty thing to do.

She puts on her least hideous maternity dress, and does her make-up, and when the recording is finished, she gets the floor manager to direct her to Dan’s dressing room.  When she finds it, it’s empty, and she stands for a moment with her hands on her hips (if the fucker has stood her up, she’s going to kill him).  The dressing room is a lot nicer than any of the ones she ever had – one of the perks of being in-house talent.

Amy’s been waiting two, maybe three minutes when he finally arrives, banging the door as he enters.  He stares at her, looks her up and down, and finally says, “So, what is it?”

She licks her lips, her mouth feeling dry.  This isn’t how she ever thought this conversation would go.  “I need to tell you something. I’m –”

And she’s interrupted (because of fucking course), by a red-headed woman breezing in to give Dan some notes.  She’s older than Amy, mid-forties maybe, and gives her an aggressively charming smile.

“You must be Amy Brookheimer,” she says, shaking Amy’s hand.  “Dan mentioned you were coming in today.”

He grins, and says, “Amy, this is my fiancé, Ruth Jones.”

It feels like the words echo in her ears for a long time, but Amy manages to make her lips shape something in the same family as a smile.  “I didn’t know,” she says.  “Congratulations.”

She can’t even look at him, so she focuses all of her attention on Ruth – who’s Head of News at CBS, Amy remembers now – trying to listen to her story about the Governor of Louisiana getting into a fight with one of their anchors, and she can’t… can’t quite focus…

Amy sways on her feet, and Dan’s face changes, something that might be concern on it for half a second, and then Ruth’s hand is on her back, warm and supportive (jesus her life is fucked up).  “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Amy says.  (She doesn’t scream, she'll scream later, in the safety of her apartment).  “Just, just too long standing in heels I think.”

“I’m amazed you even have the willpower to wear them,” Ruth says (and she’s warm and worried sounding, and fuck Dan for this, fuck him).

“Well, I’m hobbit-sized so… every little helps.”  (The light, airy voice she’s using is the stuff of Stepford Wife nightmares).

“How far along are you?”

“Seven months.”

“But you’re so tiny,” Ruth says, and Amy gives her a look.  “When my sister had her kids, she said I should always say that to pregnant women.”

Amy laughs, and it’s bright and tinkling and she thinks it’s killing her.  “I think,” she says, trying to keep up the charade, “I should probably go home – lie down for a while.  It was good to meet you.”

And she leaves before they can embroil her in further conversation – and it’s a miracle, really, that she’s still able to put one foot in front of the other, but she manages, and then she’s running (and she shouldn’t run, what if she falls?) and she’s almost out of the building when she feels Dan’s hand on her arm.  (He’d been calling her, but she’d ignored him).

She shakes him off like he’s toxic.  “What?”

“You said you wanted to –”

No.  She’s not having this talk with him now – maybe not ever.  “You had to bring me in for that?  You couldn’t tell me in a text message like an ordinary decent douchebag?”  Dan doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t need to – it’s perfectly obvious that he wanted to see her face when she heard.  Because he knows, he knows how she feels about him, and maybe he can’t even help himself.

She’s shaking now, feeling a kind of rage she hasn’t felt in a while (and somewhere at the back of her mind she wonders if it’s bad for the baby) (or maybe it’s good, a good example for her daughter, how to react properly to a shithead).  “Have you set a date yet?  Have you bought a house?   Are you getting ready to write your vows?”  He’s smiling, enjoying himself hugely and she… she feels like she could pound him into the ground with the strength of her anger, could power whole cities with it.  “You know what,” she continues, and hails a cab, “You can just go to hell.”

She’s got the door open when he responds, “Did you actually have something, or was this just another excuse to jump on the Crazy Amy train?”

Amy looks up at him, and… he’s getting _married_.  This whole time, she’s been screwing up the courage to tell him, and he’s been fucking another woman and dating another woman and _proposing_ to another woman.  Her own stupidity makes her feel painfully sad.  “Forget it,” she says, and it’s in a small voice that she hates.  “It doesn’t matter.”

And then she leaves him behind.

 

* * *

 

Amy wakes up slowly, that morning in Dan’s apartment.  Awareness comes to her in fits and starts, and she’s snuggled herself closer to him, instinctively burrowing her head into his chest, before she’s fully realised where she is.

But when she does… she’s horrified.  Of course.

Sleeping with Dan right after a break-up… if it’s not the most recklessly stupid and self-indulgent thing she’s ever done, well then Amy doesn’t want to know what _is_.  He’s not awake yet (she doesn’t think), but his arms are tight around her, and she lies there for a full five minutes, trying not to panic and to breathe like a normal person and not to repeat “oh my god oh my god oh my god” like some lunatic refrain.

It doesn’t work, and eventually she forces her way out of the bed, gathering her clothes into her arms (and she tries to do it quietly, but she’s so overwrought…)

She locks the bathroom door, and attempts to turn herself into something presentable – but between the crazed look in her eyes, the hickeys on her neck, and her swollen red lips, it’s going to take time for her to look like anything but Morning-After-Regret, and…time is the one thing she doesn’t have.

She tries her best, but her hands are shaking and her inner monologue is just a refrain of “get out get out get out!”  When she thinks she can just about stand up to the scrutiny of an uber driver, she makes a run for it.

She’s found her shoes and handbag, and got her hand on the door, sweet escape just within her grasp, when she hears his voice.  “You’re leaving?”

For just a moment, Amy lets her head slump forward, and then she turns to face him.  It has to be done sometime.

He’s wearing only his underwear, and his hair is mussed, and none of it, none of it, makes him seem even a little less threatening as he stalks towards her.

She squares her shoulders.  “Yes.”

Dan’s closer now, eyes not leaving her face.  “Why?”

“I thought… I thought that’s what you’d want.”

“Amy if that’s what I wanted, I’d have said so.”  (And he would too, she knows from past experience).

She sighs, still looking at him like he’s a rattlesnake.  “I just thought –”

“I don’t think you thought at all.”  Amy flushes because he’s right, and Dan leans in, his face too close to hers.  “I didn’t realise sleeping with me would have such an impact – it’s quite the compliment.  Keep this up and people will get ideas, think I mean something to you.”

“You’re nothing.”

“You’re not doing a very good job of sounding convincing darling.”  He kisses her mouth, quickly, sweetly, and she fights the urge to lean into him.  “I didn’t ask you to stay because I thought you’d be good for a third round like your sister.”

Amy shoves him away then, making a sound that’s a little like a sob, and clutching her hands to her chest instinctively.  She backs up against the door, pressing her back into it, trying to import some of its rigidity into herself.  “You – you actually – I can’t _believe_ –”

He steps closer, and she shrinks away from him, she can’t let him touch her.  Something crosses Dan’s face then, an expression she’s never seen before, and he says, “I didn’t mean it.”

“Yes, you _did_ ,” she says, and her voice is ice-cold, but steady (good, it’ll make it easier to rip his throat out).  “You meant every word.  You fucking love it.”

“Sure Amy, I was really hoping we could have a big theatrical fight first thing in the fucking morning.”

“Maybe you were, I don’t know… you certainly went out of your way to say the most _hurtful_ –”

“Well, you do make it kind of easy.  I couldn’t hurt you oh so much if you didn’t fucking love me, and we both know it.  Everyone knows it.”

He’s sure he’s scored a winning point, and something goes still inside her – the part of her that’s won elections, and screwed over colleagues and conspired to mislead Congress – the part most men are frightened of.  Dan’s used her feelings as a weapon against her as long as they’ve known each other, because he’s a low down son of a bitch.  But two can play at that.

“Dan,” she says, oh, this is hard, this is terrifying, it’s the plunge of an emotional bungee jump.  “I do.  Somehow, you managed it, you got under my skin, I don’t know when, but I do.  But do you know what’s sadder?”

Dan’s grinning, because he doesn’t realise that the snapback is coming, and Amy grins back at him, sharp and predatory.  “I’m the only person in the world who’s known the real you for more than five minutes and still likes you.  I’m the only person _you_ like.  And you still love hurting me – you actually _love_ it.  It makes you feel all warm and golden inside – maybe you’re so far gone that it’s the only thing that can, I don’t know.  But the thing is, when I walk out your door, I have people.  You don’t have _anyone_ except me.  And in a year or two, you’re going to run into me, out somewhere, I don’t know, and I’ll be with my _husband_ , with Buddy or Ed, or whoever he is, and I’m going to give him _everything_.  And you’ll still have nothing.  And that's all you're ever going to have.”

“Fuck you,” he says, and Amy wants to cheer.  She finally got to him, finally made him feel what she’d had to feel so many times.  (And were he anyone else, she’d be horrified with herself, but he isn’t and she isn’t).  “What?” she says.  “No line about how I’m pathetic, pining over you, or, how I’m a surprisingly easy lay, or you’d rather fuck my sister than me, or I’m so fat and unattractive I make your penis stop working?  Nothing?  Go on, _try_ , I bet it’ll feel great, it’ll warm your heart right up.  Or did I already use all your best material?  Give it time, I’m sure something will spring to mind.  Maybe I’m terrible in bed, how about that?”

“Maybe,” he says, stumbling over the words slightly, and he doesn't sound like he believes what he's saying. “Maybe they’re all true.”

“Maybe they are,” she says, and it’s bizarre, she’s almost laughing, it’s like she’s high, because nothing he says right now can touch her.  “Wouldn’t that be funny?  Because even if they are, you still want to fuck me again – and you _can’t_.”

“Well you still love me.”

“Yeah, I do.”  And the thought of him knowing she even _liked_ him used to terrify her, so saying this feels like she’s gone mad.  “And sometimes I even wish you deserved it.”  But if it’s madness, it’s _good_ madness, surging through her like a drug.  “I’ve had enough.  I’m gone, Dan.”

She opens the door, and closes it quietly behind her.  She walks to the end of his street before she calls an uber – she’s not waiting on his doorstep.  She thinks she’s feeling the kind of high cancer patients get when they give up on chemo.  She hasn’t felt this way since the convention, and she has that same dim sense that, when her vision clears, she’s going to feel just as broken.

She doesn’t see him for nearly six months, and other than the one desperate phone call the day she takes the pregnancy test, she doesn’t hear him either.  It’s better this way.

 

* * *

 

Amy’s just hit the thirty-two week mark when Selina invites her to lunch.  She says yes, because she hasn’t seen her old boss in a while, and there’s been some mutterings that… well Amy hopes they’re not true.

She is finally at the point where the pregnancy is wearing on her – she has trouble sleeping at night, unable to find a comfortable position, she has to pee constantly, and she feels the size of a small house.  She’s been putting the finishing touches on the handover documents for her (temporary) replacement – a task which requires more concentration than it feels like she has right now.  All she really wants to do is sleep.

So when the day comes, meeting Selina in a fancy restaurant feels like more trouble than it should.  She skips her usual heels, and hopes Selina won’t mind her less than perfectly polished appearance.  Well, no, she doesn’t _hope_ – she doesn’t even care – she’s felt…odd, ever since she woke up.

But still, Selina is pleasingly happy to see her, and tells her she looks good (which, whatever), and she makes Gary pull out Amy’s chair for her, so she’s spared that particular hurdle.  “You look like you’re about to pop any second.”

“Three and a half weeks to the due date,” Amy says (staring at Selina’s wine with longing).  “It can’t come soon enough.  Though I at least made it through the winter without being cold all the time, so there’s that.”

Selina smiles, and then looks behind her and up, and Amy’s heart sinks.  It’s not a surprise when Selina says, “Dan, hi.  Sit.  Amy and I are about done with the pregnancy talk.  Right?”

“Yeah,” Amy says fervently.  She can’t look at him.

“So, how’s Ruth?” Selina asks, and Amy digs her nails into her palm underneath the table.

“Oh, that’s over.  She took a job at CNN and she can’t do anything for me there, so…”

Amy keeps her eyes on her plate as Selina says something vaguely commiserating.  It’s not as though the transactional nature of Dan’s relationships has ever been a surprise, but even so…

“So,” Selina says, “I wanted to talk to you both, because you’re my people, and I have a plan.” 

A plan, it turns out, to run for President at the next election.  It’s the worst idea Amy has ever heard, which is saying something.  She meets Dan’s eyes at long last and can see he’s thinking the same thing.  She’s about to start a tactful sentence explaining to Selina that the only way she’ll get the nomination is if every other eligible Democrat dies, when she feels something… _shift_ , inside, and she has to stand and make a dash for the ladies room.  (She hears Selina tell Dan that it’s normal as she goes, which…ugh).

She’s only just got her skirt lifted when it all gushes out, and Jesus, the day is difficult enough already, and now she’s ruined her underwear.  She bends to remove her panties, with some difficulty (it’s a tight cubicle, and she’s far from her most flexible), and it takes her a moment to realise… it’s not stopping.

She’s felt crampy all day – that’s what woke her – but nothing worse than she used to get on period, nothing that would…

Amy cleans herself up with shaking hands, and pats her dress back into place, and… and when she leaves the cubicle, she catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror.  Her face is paper white, and it doesn't matter what she does, nothing fixes it.

When she finally leaves, she runs into Selina, just outside the door.  “You’ve been in there a long time,” Selina says.  “Everything all –”

And that’s when Amy’s first contraction (at least, recognisable contraction) hits, and she has to grab onto Selina’s hands, because this… this is so much worse than she’d expected.  (Sophie is a fucking liar, though Amy doesn’t know why that's a surprise).

She feels hands on her back, supporting her, and she doesn’t know who it is, she’s in too much pain (and everyone in the restaurant is looking, this is a nightmare).

It passes eventually, and Selina says, “Amy, we have to get you to a hospital.”

She shakes her head, “No, no, it’s too early, I’m not due for weeks, I can’t, it’s not supposed to happen now.”

“Are you fucking joking me?”  It’s Dan’s voice, and she jumps, turning to look at him as he continues.  “What are you planning to do, hold your breath until a more convenient time?”

“No, I… I CAN’T.  It’s too early.”  Amy realises as she speaks – she’s terrified.  She doesn’t even know what of.

“That’s it,” Selina says, “We’re going.  Gary, get everyone’s’ stuff.”

And then she and Dan hustle Amy out to the car – and at another time, seeing Gary fussing over all their coats and bags would make her laugh, but –

Another contraction hits, just as the car pulls out, and Amy digs her fingers into the leather seat covers and tries to focus on Selina’s voice.  “Come on, Amy,” she’s saying, “I know you took those stupid classes.  Breathe through it, you’re going to be fine.”

There are tears in her eyes when it ends, and Gary says, “You’re being driven to the hospital by the Secret Service, that’s exciting.”

“Shut the fuck up, Gary,” Dan says it with her, the two of them simultaneous, and when Amy looks at him beside her, his face is white.  His fists are clenched on his knees, and… he would clearly prefer to be anywhere else.

Selina heaves a deep sigh.  “Dan, give Amy your hand for fuck sake, she needs something to squeeze.”  He jumps, but does so, his expression tentative – it’s like his usual assurance has been knocked out of him.  Selina touches her knee.  “Amy, who do you want me to call?”

She tries to gather her thoughts, tries to pull them out of the entire ocean of panic that seems to have submerged her brain.  “Sophie has the kids, she can’t leave them, and, and my parents are in Florida this weekend, so… so there’s no one.”

“What about Buddy?” Dan says.

“What about him?”

“Well wouldn’t he –”

“Come to help me give birth to someone else’s child?  Are you out of your mind?”

“He’s not the –”  She’s going to hit him.  _Now_ is when he decides to have this conversation?  _Now_ is when he finally develops an interest?

“If Buddy were the father, I… I’d probably be married in Nevada by now whether I liked it or not, so, no, he’s not.”

“Okay,” Selina says, and Amy recognises that look (she’s going to get it later).  “Practicalities.  Amy, you packed an overnight bag?”

“Yeah.”

“Where is it?”

She drags herself together.  “In my bedroom – by the door – little green case.”

“And where are your keys?”  Selina’s trying to trigger her chief-of-staff instincts, and it…it might be working.

“In my coat pocket.”  She sees Selina signal Gary, but she can’t help herself, she keeps going.  “You don't understand, my Mom’s my birth partner, she said she’d come with me, but she’s in Florida, and… there’s no way, there’s no way she can get back in time, and I can’t, I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this by myself.”

And there it is – the most terrifying sentence in the world, and it’s out there for everyone to hear, she's said it.  She thinks she might cry, just seeing their faces, and that’s when Selina leans forward and takes her free hand.

“Amy, how many kids has your idiot sister had?”

“Three.”

“And how many elections have you worked on?”

“Senate, congress, primary, general… seven.”

“And who was the youngest vice-Presidential chief-of-staff _ever_?”

“Me.”

“That’s right,” Selina says.  “So don’t tell me you can’t do it alone.  You absolutely can.”  Amy nods, feeling a little better.  “But you don’t have to,” Selina adds, squeezing Amy’s hand, and Amy has never, _never_ loved her more.  “I’ll come with you.”

“Thank you ma’am.”

And the fog of complete fucking terror lifts, and the next contraction isn't nearly so hard to get through, though she still squeezes Dan’s hand so hard she strains her fingers.  He doesn’t say anything though, just looks at her (and she should be more worried by the calculating look on his face, but she lacks the energy).  When it’s passed, she lets him go, and says to Selina, “If I _ever_ get the notion that I want to have sex again, please knock me on the head for being so stupid.”

“Wait three months,” Selina says, “And then we’ll talk.”

Amy laughs against her will.  “It feels like I’m being cut in half.”

“That’s about right.  Just means everything’s working.  Now, I don’t care what shit your midwife told you, I want you to remember… the epidural is one of the greatest of all human inventions, and you can have as many as you want.”

(Maybe Selina is better than her actual mother for this – her mother is horrified by swearing, and Amy has a feeling she’s going to be doing a lot of that.)

“I’m going to fuck up this kid, I’m going to _ruin_ her life.”

“Sure you are,” Selina says.  “Everyone does – look at Gary here, or Dan, or, Jesus, look at Catherine.  She’ll be fine.  Now, Dan, when we get to the hospital, we’ll all get out, and you…you know where Amy lives?”  He nods.  “Right, take the keys from Gary, get the overnight bag, and come back.”

“Then what?”

“Then do whatever you fucking want to do, I don’t know.”

Selina sounds impatient, and Amy can see him tense, but… he doesn’t say anything.  She’s too busy, trying to write a coherent message to her mother, to work out what’s going on with him, and in a minute more they’re at the hospital.  Selina and Gary help her out of the car, and it’s the last time she sees him.

The birth is long and draining and when at last a small red creature with a screwed up face is placed on her chest, Amy’s too exhausted to do much more than pat her back.  She has a thatch of dark hair and huge blue eyes, and… it’s hard to believe she actually made a person.  She’s just awake enough to tell them her daughter’s name – Miriam Selina Brookheimer – and it’s an enormous relief when she’s wheeled out of the birthing suite and given a clean bed.

When they bring Miriam back she’s been washed, and wrapped in soft blankets, and she’s much more recognisably human.  Amy traces a finger on her cheek and watches her yawn.  “She doesn’t look nearly as much like an old man as I expected.”

“Yeah,” Selina says, sounding almost as tired as Amy feels.  “That is a lot of hair.  Want me to take a photo for your parents?”

“Sure,” Amy says, and doesn’t even bother to pose.  They’ll be back in a few days, and she’s kind of dreading the inevitable fuss.

Selina gathers her things.  “Are you okay if I leave you?”

“Yeah,” Amy says.  “Besides, it’s not like I’m alone.  I just wish Da – I wish her Dad was here.”

“You know Dan’s going to work it out eventually.”  Amy starts, and Selina continues.  “You’ve been in love _and_ in hate with him for what, years now?  If I can see it, I promise you he can.  He knows how to fucking count.”

She’d never thought Selina had cared – hell, she’d never thought Selina had _noticed_.  “I have tried, but… he’s not easy.”

“You’re not exactly a picnic yourself.”

“I know.”

Selina gives her a brief hug, and leaves.  It’s the last peace Amy has for a long time.

 

* * *

 

Looking back, Amy remembers the first seven weeks with Miriam as the worst of her life.  She’s experienced the roller coaster of national campaigns, and she’d thought nothing could be worse, but… she’d had no idea.

Miriam always needs to be fed or changed or rocked or something, and in the rare moments when she _is_ asleep, Amy has to shower or clean her house or feed herself or wash all the clothes and towels Miriam has stained with a variety of disgusting bodily fluids, and it doesn’t stop.  It doesn’t _ever_ stop.

For the first month, she’s lucky if she manages to get even a full hour of sleep, and Miriam is fussy and demanding (hardly a surprise, given her parents), and… there is so much of Dan in her, in her face, that it hurts.

Amy doesn’t know if she’s getting things even halfway close to right.  Her mother drops in a few times a week, and assures her she’s doing perfectly – but her mother thinks everything she does is perfect, so…

But at seven and a half weeks, Miriam _smiles_ up at her, a proper, human smile, and… for a whole ten minutes, the madness lifts.  She’s not slowly killing her child, she’s not a complete failure, she’s got at least some part of it right.  (And she can finally go to the toilet without feeling as though something will burst, so life is improving in other ways too).

Then, of course, Miriam needs to be changed, and the whole horrible cycle starts again.  (Amy would feel guilty for her untender feelings towards her daughter, except, love, for her, has always been bound up with some measure of frustration, some irritation and crossness, so it’s not like Miriam is an exception).

Her parents, her father in particular, are very gentle with her and she knows why.  Miriam is so clearly and obviously Dan’s child, and they can work out what that means.  They also don’t know he’s been texting her every day since the birth. 

It’s not a conversation exactly – she’s too damn tired to maintain a conversation – but they’ve made fun of the Montez administration’s fuck-ups, and he’s shared his running commentary on the SCOTUS appointment hearings, and… and it might be keeping her sane.  She misses adults.

But he doesn’t ask for pictures of the baby, or even mention her, and…in a way, that’s a relief – she doesn’t have the energy for a fight.  And if he’s been reading her occasional replies, he knows that.

Amy doesn’t see him until ten weeks after the birth.  She’s due back at work in two weeks (and now that Miriam has started sleeping through the night – sometimes – it’s not as impossible to think about), and she’s in her room, trying on old work clothes and not crying.  She thought she’d lost most of the baby weight, but nothing fits right, the seams are strained, or the proportions are off, and she’d scream in frustration if she only could.  That’s when she hears his voice.

“Amy.”

She starts, and drops the blouse she’d been considering on the floor.  (For a moment, she even forgets that Miriam is on the bed).

“I… how did you – ”

“Your Mom let me in.  After I begged.”

“Wow.  You finally broke my mother.  I didn’t think that would ever happen.”

“Yeah.  I wonder why,” he says, and Amy inhales.  Miriam starts to cry on the bed, and she picks her up, hurriedly, not quite meeting his eye. 

“I have to feed her.”

She sits on the bed, cross-legged, gripping Miriam with one hand, and trying to arrange the pillows with another.  It must look more awkward than it feels, because Dan huffs out a breath, and sits down behind her.  “Lean on me, for fuck sake.”

“Oh, of course you know how to do it,” she says, irritated, but she does so, and… he feels strong, and he feels warm, and it is amazing to be supported, even if only for a second.

Amy’s busy getting Miriam into the right position, and trying to pull her tank top up without exposing her entire chest, and it rather startles her when Dan says, “I wouldn’t have thought you’d –”

“Breastfeed?  Please, it’s the easy part.”

“Oh?” She can feel him smiling,

“Yeah,” she says (and Miriam’s latched on now, which is a relief).  “It’s like sex, I don’t have to –”

“What?” Dan’s eyebrows are practically in his hairline.  “You’re going to have to expand on that one.”

“I don’t have to think about it, is what I meant.  It just _happens_.  My brain can just sort of…stop thinking.  And look at her – she knows exactly what she wants.”

“So she’s self-involved and obsessed with your tits?” 

When Amy looks back him, he winks, and she’s so surprised she almost laughs.  Maybe this conversation won’t be completely awful.  “When you put it that way, it’s not exactly shocking.”

“I’m her Dad,” Dan says, and from his expression, she can tell – he doesn’t actually need her to confirm it.

“Yeah,” she says, and braces herself.

“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?”

Her instinct, the way it always is, is to reel off a self-righteous list of his many, many transgressions, but she bites back the impulse.  It’s unhelpful.  “I didn’t… I didn’t realise for quite a while – I’ve never been completely regular, and…and I’m _always_ tired, so I didn’t… it didn’t ring any immediate alarm bells.  And then, I needed to work out what _I_ was going to do before I talked to you.”

“Why?  And don’t tell me that – you called me out of nowhere to… that, that was when, you’d just found out, hadn’t you?”

She nods, and continues.  “I figured…I figured you’d just want me to get an abortion, and… and I _couldn’t_ have that conversation with you if I wasn’t already sure myself.  I couldn’t do it.”  His hands tighten on her waist at that, but his face doesn’t give anything away, “I did try… I mean probably not hard enough, but… it didn’t seem like something I could just _say_ , and, you were engaged, and that soap opera triangle hell thing is not for me.”

“You know that didn’t mean anything.”

“It never does, does it?" she says, and looks away from him (unlike Dan, Amy's never had a poker-face, and she doesn't want him to read just how hurt she'd been).  "Anyway, for what it’s worth… I am… I’m sorry.  I know it was a shitty thing to do, I should have pushed through it, I know that.  I was just scared.”

“And now you’re not?” (He _might_ be teasing her).

“Please, I’ve been through childbirth.  Nothing is ever going to frighten me again.”  Miriam has finished feeding, and a wicked impulse seizes Amy.  “You want to hold her?”

Dan looks comically petrified, and she laughs and puts Miriam in his hands.  “Don’t worry,” she says, “If she was easy to break I would definitely have done it by now.  Besides, she’s milk-drunk, so she’s not going to cry on you.”  And indeed, Miriam looks disgustingly contented, balling up his shirt in one of her little fists.

“She’s kind of cute.”

Amy rolls her eyes.  “You would say that – she looks just like you.  That’s how my parents knew – I didn’t tell them.”

“So that’s why your Dad wouldn’t let me in.”  She must look puzzled, because he continues.  “I came by, the first week, more than once… he didn’t tell you.”

“Well,” she says.  “He kind of hates your guts, so…”

“And seeing the result of my super-dominant genes didn’t help?  At least she got your eyes.”

“And my nose – poor girl.  But the eyes might change, it’s still early.”

“Let’s hope not,” Dan says, and he almost sounds like he means it, which is enough to make her cry.  She turns away from him, trying to hide it.

“Goddamn fucking shit I hate this.”

“Amy, in front of the baby?”

“Fucking pregnancy hormones – I cry more than Gary now, I hate it.”

Dan laughs, but he’s looking at her with something like wonder.  “I’ve never seen you – you didn’t even cry when I… in Nevada.”

“Sure I did,” she says, and his face actually softens.  “I just wasn’t stupid enough to do it where you would see.  Being rejected is one thing, but for my own sister… anyway, it doesn’t matter anymore.”  Dan’s making a face like he’s getting ready to fight her, and she continues.  “I don’t… I don’t _expect_ anything from you, if that’s what – I know this wasn’t your plan.”

“Please, Amy, you think I want to be exhibit one in DC’s deadbeat Dads?  That’s not exactly a useful reputation.”

He’s grinning, and Amy shakes her head.  “No.  No, that won’t work.  You can’t treat her like some fucking chess piece in your lifelong ‘make people impressed with Dan Egan’ game.”

“That’s not what I –”

“I’m serious.  It’s one thing to do that to me – I mean, you shouldn’t, I’m a fucking catch, you should be goddamn _proud_ – but I’m still an adult, I can take it.  No little girl should have to wonder if her Dad’s going to find her useful or not each week.  I won’t let you do that to her, because it fucking _sucks_ Dan.”

“Ame, come on.  I’m nicer to you than you are to me.  And I’m not nice to anyone.”  She raises an eyebrow at him.  “What, it’s true?”

“I know.  That’s what’s so horrifying.”

“You like love this kid already – you’ve gone all soft and gooey.  I don’t like it.”

“Well.  She’s a complete nightmare.  Apparently that’s my type.”

Dan laughs, and kisses her, and it’s not a prelude to something else, it’s just a kiss, just sweet and soft.  “I was sure you’d gone back to your cowboy – after that night… I figured you’d told him you’d made a huge mistake.”

“ _That_ ’s why you were such a prick?  Dan, I only said that because you… I was upset.”

“Oh, I gathered that much.”  He tilts her chin up with one finger, making her look at him.  “I did actually want you to stay, you know that?”

She doesn’t know what to say, so she takes Miriam from him, and puts her in the bassinet.  It doesn’t surprise her when Dan puts his arms around her from behind, and she leans back on him, closing her eyes.  “I wish it hadn’t all got so fucked up.”

“But at least you’ll be back at your fighting weight in time for the next election.”

Amy grins up at him – she’d been wrong, there was one other person who’d make that calculation.  (That's probably why she loves him).

“Yeah, well, if I’d actually been planning it, I would have had you knock me up on the night of the inauguration.  The timing would have been perfect.”

“That would have been fine by me,” Dan says, waggling his eyebrows, and Amy gives into her instincts and kisses him properly.   When they separate, she takes a deep breath.  “Stay?  I’ll probably just fall asleep on you, but –”

“I like the sound of that.”

“I don’t mean – I’m not ready yet, to –”

“Please,” he says, “If you don’t want me near it, I’m not going to push.  I’m not a fucking animal.”

“I know.  Stay anyway?”

“Yes,” he says, and it’s all she can do not to just fling herself on him.

 

* * *

 

For all her good intentions of taking it slow, of being sure that Dan was serious, he manages to insinuate himself back into her life surprisingly quickly.  Within six weeks he has effectively stealth moved in with her – perhaps she started it by giving him a key, but she didn’t realise it had happened until she looked in the closet one day and saw fifteen of his suits.   She doesn’t know why he did it, he doesn’t enjoy the actual process of child-rearing any more than she does (the day when Miriam can manage her own toilet needs cannot come soon enough as far as Amy’s concerned).

But it gets easier – a lot easier – with him around.  She stops feeling like she’s slowly losing her mind, and starts to find the harder parts of the process funny instead of exhausting (or, as well as exhausting). 

Since he’s working the morning shows, he’s usually home when she finishes work… and one day, when she’s keyed up and furious (she cannot _believe_ people are still letting Doyle get away with this nonsense), she walks in the door, sees him sitting on the couch and jumps him.

Her sheer rage at all the political incompetence around her seems to kick-start her libido, and pretty soon they’re fucking every night (or occasionally, in the mornings, before he has to leave), as soon as Miriam’s gone to sleep.

Dan makes nice with her parents – her mother is, predictably, easily charmed, though her father still hates him – and even if she spends the whole time waiting for the other shoe to drop, Amy still catches herself occasionally, looking at him and being… happy.  (She tries not to, because it will only hurt _more_ , but…)

Perhaps he knows she’s holding back, because he takes her to Vegas for her birthday (they leave Miriam with her Mom), and brings her to the world’s ugliest wedding chapel, and it’s only _after_ they’ve fucked on every possible surface in their hotel room that he gives her the ring.  (Perhaps he knew that she wouldn’t believe him, if he’d proposed _first_ ).

He tells her he's almost sure he's never used it before, and she hits him.  Which is when he slides it onto her finger and says it belonged to his grandmother.  She kisses him, and then tells him the complete truth.  “You are the worst, you know that, the absolute worst –”

“You love it.”

(He jokes about how he’d almost invited Buddy Calhoun, and she reminds him that Carson City is 422 miles away).  (And to stop being such an ass).

When Dan tells Selina her Presidential ambitions are delusional, she throws a vase at him, and tells him he’s innumerate, but it’s fine.  They’re a family – and other presidential candidates are already scouting them – and they’re a family.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dan's point of view.

When he makes it to Amy’s apartment, finally, Dan feels like he’s going to vomit.  He walks to her bedroom, sees the green overnight case, the framed photo of Amy and Selina from the mid-terms (with a red-tie-wearing male chest in the background that he thinks is probably his), and the unmade bed.

Amy’s pyjamas are crumpled on the floor, as though she was in such a rush to meet them for lunch she didn’t even bother picking them up, and he steps gingerly around them before sinking down on to Amy’s mattress.  

His hands are shaking. 

He’d have thought – he’d have thought – that being here, surrounded by Amy’s things and Amy’s scent and Amy’s home, would calm him, soothe him somehow, but it makes everything worse.

He can see into what used to be Amy’s office, and it’s stacked full of baby things, things Amy must have bought online somewhere – she already hated shopping, there’s no way she’d want to do it for stuffed animals. 

But she’d bought them.  She’d wound up pregnant, and she’d decided to have the kid, and the kid was definitely, definitely not Buddy Calhoun’s.  And she’d still decided to keep it. 

Dan stares at the crib until his eyes water, and then stands, sharply, grabs Amy’s tiny overnight bag, and leaves.  (But not without making a brief detour to the bathroom to collect her toothbrush – Amy hates not being able to brush her teeth, and it allows him to confirm what he already suspects… there’s only one toothbrush there).

He makes it to the hospital in less than an hour, and then he sits with Gary and waits.

And waits.

He doesn’t have to of course.  He’s not family, he’s barely even a friend at this point, but he has to know. 

He has to know that she’s okay, he has to know that everything’s all right, he has to know…  Jesus, she’d been frightened, he could hear it in her voice, the moment her waters broke Amy was flat out terrified.  On any other day the role reversal would have been funny, hearing Selina comforting Amy, steadying her, calming her, reassuring her that she will get through the pain – but it wasn’t funny, not at all, because Amy was _scared_.

His hands clench into fists every time he thinks about it. 

He can deal with Amy when she’s furious, and he can deal with her when she’s tired, and he can even deal with her when she has that quavery, jagged tone in her voice that means she’s a minute away from heartbroken.  (Okay, he can’t _exactly_ deal with that one, he hates it).  But seeing her panicked and afraid, and clinging to Selina’s hand like that would fix anything, it made him feel sick.

Gary stays – ready to bring Selina hand cream or coffee or his spleen or his kidneys whenever she might happen to need them, and normally Dan would tell him to fuck off, but in a strange way… it’s comforting.  He gives him the occasional questioning look, but he’s too much of a little girl to actually ask why Dan is staying, and so the two of them sit there for hours in the waiting room.

It’s past midnight when Selina finally emerges, looking drained and wearing a pair of nurse’s flat shoes.  There’s something in her glance when she sees Dan, but she doesn’t say anything, just submits to Gary’s pampering the way she always does.

“How’s the baby?” Gary says, all excited, (far more excited than Dan would have expected, it’s not like Amy and Gary are close or anything).

“Ten fingers, ten toes,” Selina says, “You want to see a picture?”

“Of course!” Gary says, and takes her phone from her, seemingly knowing that Selina won’t be able to find it.

“And Amy?”

“She’s – she’s fine.  Took it like a champ.  Admittedly a champ with a very, very foul mouth, but…once the hours of labour hit double digits, I think anything goes.”

He looks at the doors Selina came through, wondering if he could go in, if he could see her, but Selina must guess what he’s thinking because she continues, “Family and partners only.  They made an exception for me thanks to the…circumstances.”

“Oh,” he says, and he must be too tired to think straight.  “Why did you go anyway, you don’t like…hospitals?”  (He’d been going to say ‘helping people’ but thought better of it).

“It’s scary enough, Dan, without being by yourself.  I should know.  I was alone when Catherine was born.”

“Andrew didn’t – what kind of shitty – ”

“He had a business trip, and she was early.  And Mother wasn’t about to risk her manicure.  Fortunately we had the best doctors.”  There’s a hardened quality to Selina’s face as she says this, and for the first time he understands just why Amy and Gary loathe Andrew so much.  “Anyway, I wasn’t about to let Amy go through that.”

“Right.  So she didn’t… call anyone else, or…”  His voice trails off, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking, and fortunately, that’s when Gary finally finds the damn photo, his squeal effectively cutting him off.  Dan barely has a moment before the phone is shoved under his face, and there’s Amy, her hair plastered to her scalp and her eyes red (with tears, or with tiredness, he’s guessing), and she’s holding a tiny bundle to her chest, looking down at it (at her, he corrects himself) with a dazed expression. 

He still hasn’t fully grasped what he’s looking at when he hears Gary say, “She’s so dark.  She must take after her Daddy.”

“Yeah,” Selina said, “She certainly didn’t get that hair from Amy.”

She very carefully does not look at Dan when she says this, and he wants to sit down, he wants to put his head between his knees.

 _I need to tell you something_.

Amy had said it to him every time they’d spoken since… since… every single time, she’d said that.

“Does she have a name?” Gary burbles.

“Miriam – Miriam Selina Brookheimer.  Since I helped bring her into the world.”  Selina is preening herself, proud of her basic decency, proud of having held someone’s hand for half a day.  “Can you text that picture to Amy’s mother – you know they’ll keep her up all night until they get something.”

Gary nods, and then realises he doesn’t have the phone number, and, not really thinking, Dan says, “I have her sister’s number.”

He’s going to remember Selina’s expression at that for a long time. 

Even as he’s getting the number up to show Gary, he can feel her glare, and finally she says, “You know, it’s a terrible pity.  I didn’t understand… being a single mother, that’s been Amy’s nightmare as long as I’ve known her, but… whoever Miriam’s father is, Amy was sure he wouldn’t care enough to even show up.  And maybe she’s right.”

Oh, she knows.  She definitely knows.  That’s his fucking kid – that’s his _daughter_ – and Selina knows it.

There’s a moment when he thinks of breaking through the doors, racing down the corridor until he finds Amy, and yelling at her because… what the fuck?  What the twisted, everloving… how could she do this?  How could she have his goddamn child and not even have the courtesy to tell him? 

_I need to tell you something._

But he thinks better of it. 

Yelling at the mother of his child (jesus fuck that is an actual phrase he can now use with complete honesty) a mere five minutes after she’s finished giving birth… that’s a good way to get himself arrested.

So he picks up his coat and leaves, not even waiting for Selina and Gary.  He needs to get the fuck out of there.

 

* * *

 

The moment he saw Amy walking down his street he knew he was going to sleep with her.

It had been too long, he’d let it go on too long, and it was time to nail things down.  She’d been avoiding him ever since they left the White House – Dan had suspected, but the way she looked shifty when he joked about it confirmed everything – wasting her time on that chinless cowboy, and he was going to put a stop to that immediately.

When Amy said Buddy had proposed, he felt something clench in his gut, because no way, no way was she moving to Nevada, she couldn’t even be thinking of it.

But it stiffened his resolve to remind her who she really belonged to, and so, when she was fussing around, pretending to want to leave, he pulled her close and kissed her softly. 

Amy seemed to have to steel herself, taking a deep, soothing breath, before she opened her eyes and really looked at him, but when she finally met his gaze, he knew it had been the right move. 

It was the work of a moment to pull her into his lap and _really_ kiss her, though it was awkward as hell.  Amy was grabbing at him, pushing herself closer and pulling at his shirt, and trying (so considerately) not to accidentally knee him in the groin or the stomach.

He’d fucked Amy on that sofa before, and it wasn’t a particularly proud memory – certainly not one he wanted to repeat.

So he shifted position, almost unbalancing Amy in the process, and stood, throwing her over one shoulder like a fireman.  Her outraged yelp just made it better, and even as she yelled at him, he was walking them towards his bedroom.

“Dan!  You fucking caveman, you can’t heave me up like some sack of potatoes.”

“That’s true,” he says, letting one hand caress the soft curve of her ass.  “You certainly don’t _feel_ like a sack of potatoes.”

“Put me down.”

“Be patient, Amy, we’re almost there.”

“Put me down right now!”

“All right,” he says, and dumps her on the bed. 

“You fucking ape, I swear to –”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he says, smiling down at her, and it effectively shut her up for a whole two seconds.  And then she crooked her finger at him, saying, “Well then get over here.”

He didn't need telling twice, and he crawled up her body, positioning himself between her spread legs, and kissing her breathless.

When they finally pause, he can’t quite help it, he smirks – Amy looks so _happy_ , so contented to be boxed in by his arms, to have her mouth swollen red with his kisses.  As usual, it aggravates her, and she starts to remove his tie, muttering swear words under her breath when it proves resistant.  Dan goes to help her and she shakes her head sharply.  “I want to.”

That only makes him smirk _more_ , and Amy pauses at her task to slap his face (well, not really).  “Keep that up and I leave right now.”

“Please, don’t,” he says, grinding his crotch against hers.  (His actions completely belying the pleading tone of his voice).  “I’ll let you do anything you want.”

Amy snorted.  “I’ll bet you will.”  Having finally gotten his tie off, she kissed him again, all lips this time, as she slowly unbuttoned his shirt.  (Predictably, she ran into trouble when she tried to take it off, because “of course you’d wear fucking cufflinks and not tell me.”)

When she’d finally thrown his shirt into the far corner of the room, Dan slid his tongue into her mouth, letting his weight sink on her a little, pressing her firmly into the mattress.  It’s achingly slow, and tender, and Amy moans ever so slightly, low in her throat, and that just makes him push for more. 

She must feel the same impatience, because she undoes his belt, and starts to unzip his fly, and Dan can’t help it, her hands are so _close_ to… his hips jerk forward, involuntarily, he wants to press himself into her hands, and Amy shakes her head.  “Behave,” she says, the admonishing tone in her voice just making him harder, and he can’t help it, he pushes closer and all but _growls_ into her ear, “Make me.”

It wasn’t supposed to make her laugh, but it does, and the way she shakes underneath him is utter torture.  “Are you seriously trying to goad me into jerking you off?”

“That depends,” Dan says, lifting his hips slightly to help her slide his remaining clothes off.  “Is it working?”

Amy laughs more, and tells him he’s an ass, but she has her hand wrapped around his cock by then so he really, really doesn’t care what she says as long as she keeps touching him. 

He starts off kissing her, her cheek and her chin and the spot where her jaw meets her neck, but he can’t keep it up, can’t concentrate, and when he finds himself gasping into Amy’s neck, he knows she has to stop.

Gently, he shifts her hand away, and, after taking a deep breath, he rolls them.  He wants to touch her properly, and he wants to get her dress off, and he can’t do that when she’s underneath him.

Dan sits up, so they’re pressed together, belly to belly and chest to chest.  Amy’s dress is rucked up around her hips, and the smooth, cool skin of her thighs keeps rubbing against his dick, and he has to stop thinking about that or he’ll lose it.

His hands slide under her dress – and he wants to praise the person who invented light summer dresses, because he can feel everything – and Amy _stiffens_ , in his arms, there’s no other word for it.

Which… is not a complete surprise, if he’s honest.  (He knows her, he knows how she is).

He could make some asshole comment (it’s flattering as all hell that he can make her nervous, no two ways about it), but that’d just make her tense up more, and then he’d have to work even harder to get her to relax, because he’s not fucking her when she’s rigid like this, it wouldn’t feel right, it wouldn’t even be worth it. 

So he kisses her instead, letting his hands run up and down her back, stroking her shoulders and cupping her ass, and soon, sooner than he’d expected, Amy’s… well, she’s still nervous, but now it’s in a _good_ way.

He can feel her trembling as she shifts back on her heels, and then she pulls her dress over her head.  When it’s gone, she meets his eyes, almost defiantly, and he wants to make a joke because it’s like she’s _surprised_ that he pulls her back in, like she was actually expecting him to change his mind.  (But he doesn’t make the joke; he’s not a moron, and he knows that if he does she’ll just retreat again, and he doesn’t have the patience for it).

Amy breaks the kiss when he snaps her bra open, resting her forehead against his.  She’s breathing heavily, keeping her eyes on him as he (oh so slowly) slides the straps down her arms.  He can hear the shake in her breath, and so he doesn’t remove the bra where it’s lodged between their bodies (he’ll let her do that).  But he does say the first thing that springs to mind. 

“I’m going to be inside you in like, five minutes.  It’s no time to be shy.”

“You don’t know that,” Amy says, her mouth twisting in what might be a smile.

“You’re right,” he says, smoothing down her hair, “I don’t.  Maybe you’ll walk out of here right now.  But I really hope you won’t.”

Amy finally ( _finally_ ) tugs her bra out from between them, and she’s pressed up against him now, all soft curves and hard nipples, and he wants to _grab_.  “Sometimes I really hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Dan says and twists so she’s back underneath him. 

He props himself up on one arm, and lets his other hand slowly, slowly, trace its way down her body, and then into her underwear, his fingers teasing her gently.  “Well look at you,” he says, pulling his head back to take in her whole body, as she arches her hips up into his hand.

It’s weirdly endearing, the way she shifts as though wanting to cover herself, and then stops, strangling the impulse, letting him feast his eyes on her.  She’s flushed and warm and fucking gorgeous, and so he bends his head to place wet, open mouthed kisses on her collarbone, her breasts, her belly.

“So fucking smug,” Amy says, tugging at his hair (but pushing her body further into his mouth, not able to resist it.)

“You love that I’m smug,” he says, muttering against her skin.  “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“Jesus,” Amy says, “Can’t you think of a better use for that mouth than bragging?”

“Oh,” he says, and bends to kiss her pussy.  “You mean like this?”

The musical whimper that Amy lets out when he touches her is a sound he’s going to replay in his memory over and over, and he pulls back to grin up at her.  “Seriously?” she says, panting, with fury or arousal or with both.  “Fucking tease.”

So he sets to work, and when Amy’s breathing has started to catch in her throat, something between a gasp and a moan, and she's started to grab at him, fingers digging into his shoulders, that’s when he can finally ( _finally_ ) grab a condom and fuck her. 

It’s fast – faster maybe than he should admit – but the way Amy’s breathing speeds up, he’s not worried.  When they’ve both ridden out their orgasms, and he’s feeling able to breathe, he lifts himself up, so he can see her properly.  He strokes her face and says, “Five minutes.  Told you.”

Amy laughs, seemingly against her will, and stifles herself by burying her face in his shoulder.  Dan knows he should move, should handle the condom, but she’s so soft… “I’d forgotten you like to do that.”

Amy finally shifts so he can see her face, and he can see the question in her eyes.  “You cling on,” he says, “When you come.  You hold on to me like you’re drowning or something.” 

“Shut up,” she says, her face red.   (She’s meeting his eyes, but only just, and only because he’s so close she can’t really not). 

She hasn’t understood him at all.  He kisses her cheek, and then kisses up toward her ear, finally whispering, harshly, “It’s okay.  I _like_ it.”

He pulls out of her as he speaks, and he sees a spasm of…something in her face, but he has to deal with the condom before he does anything else.  By the time it’s knotted and he’s found a tissue (his hands are clumsy and slow-moving after the sex), Amy has rolled on her side, away from him.  She doesn’t say anything, but he hears her sigh, and Dan knows what that means.  Maybe he shouldn’t have reminded her of the _last_ time they’d done this – her nerves are starting to creep back in.

So he pulls her close and says, “Stay.”

Amy turns her head back to look at him, and he adds.  “Besides you can’t go now, your hair’s all messed up at the back.”

She rolls her eyes.  “Proud of yourself, aren’t you?”

“Eh… yeah,” he says, and he’s not surprised when she smacks his arm.

But she lets him spoon her (and Amy is not a cuddler, not usually), and he thinks she’s fallen asleep when she says, her tone light, her eyes still closed.  “Is this the part where you hit me over the head with a hammer?”

“Yeah.  I keep one under my pillow specially.”  He kisses her shoulder.  “Go to sleep Amy.”

She sighs, but merely takes his hand and presses her face against it.  And he doesn’t think about the significance of that question until the next morning, when he’s fucked her again and when he’s fucked up in every conceivable way.

It was a warning. 

 

* * *

 

 

Amy’s father hates him.  Dan knows this because, well what father wouldn’t, and he knows this because every time Dan’s been in his presence for longer than thirty seconds Amy’s Dad couldn’t stop glaring at him, and he knows this because Amy’s Dad was kind enough to tell him (at some length) just how contemptible he was.

So it’s unfortunate, really unfortunate, that Amy’s Dad is the one to answer the door the first time Dan stops by.  

And the second.

And the third.

The first time he’d sworn out loud and slammed the door in Dan’s face, the second time he hadn’t even finished opening the door, and the third…

Well fortunately, the third time Amy’s Mom interrupts – she’s always loved him, inexplicably.  And she puts her hand on her husband’s arm, cutting him off mid-rant.  “Dan,” she said.  “It’s nice to see you again.”

“This shitstack shouldn’t be anywhere –”

“Honey, don’t get upset.”

“Upset – have you seen… you know why she wouldn’t –”

“Look,” Dan says, holding up the pathetic little teddy bear he’d managed to buy.  “You know why I’m here.”

“Because you’re a goddamn parasite, that’s why.”

“That’s my kid in there.”

“Yeah,” Amy’s Dad says, “And much good it’ll do her.  She deserves an actual fucking father, not some yuppie creep, but she has you.  You’d as soon sell her for parts.”

“Sweetheart,” Amy’s Mom says, “Why don’t you go see if Amy wants lunch?  She’s not eating enough.”  She looks at him seriously and adds, “I’ll talk to him.”

When Amy’s Dad has finally departed, not without some bluster, she steps out onto the doorstep, pulling the door closed behind her.  “Now, Daniel, you understand you can’t come in.”

“ _Why_ not?”

He’s never thought Amy particularly resembled her mother, but the look she gives him, half-amused, half-pitying, like she can see all the way through him, is eerily familiar.  “I don’t think you understand this, but it’s very…overwhelming for her.”

“Yeah, but I’m her –”

“Amy hasn’t talked about you once.  Every time Sophie mentions your name, she changes the subject.  Which is a lot, at the moment.”

“But you know the truth.”

“Yes.  It’s… very obvious, Miriam is…there’s no one else’s she could be.  That’s how we all know – Amy hasn’t told us.”

Dan bows his head for a moment.  “She didn’t tell _me_.”

“Ah,” she says, like it’s starting to make sense.  “I see.”

“She should have fucking told me, she should have said _something._ ”

“You know what, Dan?  I agree with you.  She should have.  And maybe, maybe you should think about why she didn’t.”

He tries not to roll his eyes.  He’s heard it all before, and it’s bullshit – Amy has never, never had a problem telling him the exact type and shade of shit he is. 

“In a few weeks, things will be different, she’ll have settled in.  You can talk to her then.  But right now… it’s not the time to have a fight with her.”

“I’m not going to fight with her.  I’m not going to fight a lot with her.”

Amy’s Mom sighs, and looks at him with something like exasperation.  “Let me tell you something.  No one believes this, but Sophie… Sophie was never the one I worried about, I always knew she’d be fine.  It was Amy… no matter what we did or said, she never seemed to feel she was good enough.  You won’t understand this yet, but to see your little girl struggle with that, for years, that’s a special kind of pain.  And I never understood it – she’s so beautiful, so clever, and yet… all the time, it’s always there.  That’s why I knew you were the one for her.”

“Jesus.”  (He’s never had someone claim he was _good_ for a woman’s self-esteem before).

“Oh, she hasn’t had nice things to say about you… in years really, but… she never seemed to pretend with you.  Buddy now, she was tying herself in knots to be what he wanted, but you… she’d tell you to jump off a cliff before she’d change for you.  And you’d never ask her to.  So.  But if you don’t have the right kind of feelings for her, or for your daughter, then you shouldn’t be here.   Don’t waste any more of her time.”

Okay, the self-righteous, overprotective mother act is kind of annoying, but he can sense the steeliness underneath.  It doesn’t matter what he does or what he says, there’s no way he’s getting past the threshold today. 

(And he doesn’t actually know what he’d have said.  He wants to scream at her for lying to him, and he wants to actually see the baby, and he wants to kick himself for letting it get to this, but beyond that… he’s not sure).

So he thrusts the bag with the teddy into her hands, and, after a moment’s thought, he gives her one of his business cards.  “She won’t…if something happens, she won’t call me, so…”

“Of course.  I’ll keep you informed, I promise.”

Which she does.  She sends him photos of Amy and Miriam every day, like clockwork, another adorable picture arriving in his phone, usually in the mid-afternoon.  Miriam has his hair, his face shape, even his eyebrows (eventually), a full mouth (that could come from either of them), Amy’s wide nose, and her eyes are Amy-blue.  There’s one photo, in particular, where he can see his mother, and his sister, in her, even more than himself, and it… it’s weird.  That she’s out there, a part of him, existing, being held and fed and rocked by Amy, day in day out, and he’s never even touched her. 

But he doesn’t know what he’ll say.

  

* * *

 

 

Dan woke up first that morning.  He’d forgotten to close the blinds, and the sun shone straight into his eyes, waking him before he actually wanted to.  (Since he’d woken Amy – or she’d woken him – he’s not sure which – in the middle of the night and they’d had sex (he almost thinks made love, but he hates that phrase, always has) again, he was still tired).

Amy’s head is pillowed on his chest, her breath almost tickling him, and he readjusts his arms around her, pulling her in tighter (she crushes him just right). 

Perhaps that’s what woke her, because mere moments later, she was turning her head away from the sunlight, nestling herself further into him.  Dan closes his eyes – sue him, he wants to see what she’ll do – and his heart almost stops when she kisses his chest, a bolt of energy seeming to go straight to his throat. 

But she’s not really awake.  He knows when she’s fully awake because her whole body snaps, and she says “Oh god.” 

And then she just keeps repeating those two words, “oh god oh god oh god oh god what the fuck oh god.”

It takes her a minute or two, but she does eventually subdue her anxiety, swallowing it down inside herself, and then she’s so still that Dan thinks maybe she’s gone back to sleep.  He slits his eyes open to look at her, but she’s forcefully shoving his arms off her, and all but leaping out of the bed.  (And she really must be panicked, to think he wouldn’t notice all that sudden movement).

He lies there for a minute or two, scratching his stomach and trying to work out his next move.  Amy is clearly freaking the fuck out, which is hilarious, and he’s tempted to really mess with her – cook her breakfast, have a bath with her, fuck her on the kitchen counter, whatever will get her to stay. 

He hasn’t seen her in months.

Or, he’s seen her, but he hasn’t _really_ seen her – she’d run into him at events and blow him off, take days to answer his text messages, and all the time he’s been hearing about how she and _Buddy_ are such a cute couple.

He wants her to stay.

So he pulls a pair of boxers and goes in search of her.  He didn’t expect that she’d be running out the damn door, and he’s actually… he’s actually kind of hurt.  (He’d asked her to stay.  Didn’t she understand what that meant?)

So, maybe, maybe he said the wrong thing.

He absolutely said the wrong thing. 

He doesn’t know what he was thinking, except that he was pissed with her – he’d asked her to stay, and instead she ran away like he was toxic – and he wanted her to feel the same way.

 _I didn’t ask you to stay because I thought you’d be good for a third round like your sister._  

He’s surprised she didn’t hit him.

But seeing her flinch, actually flinch, when he goes to touch her, like he’s some creepy sex offender, it just pisses him off more.  (So she’ll fuck him all night, but not let him touch her face?)

Dan never thought Amy could admit she loved him and hurt him more than she hurt herself, but he’d underestimated her, she found a way.  And he doesn’t know how to stop it, doesn’t know how to counter all the things she’s screaming at him, terrible things, things he’s never said about her, never would, how could she think that? 

(Okay, he knows how she could think that.  He knows exactly why she thinks all those things.  But he’d never _meant_ any of them).

And then she leaves. 

He flops down on the sofa, and watches television, and reads twitter, and he doesn’t think about Amy’s face when she backed away from him, the rawness in her voice, he doesn’t think about any of that at all.

He keeps checking his phone, thinking she’ll have texted, have said she’s sorry, have said they should talk.  But the more he checks his phone, the more Amy doesn’t call, and before he knows it it’s seven pm and he’s still sitting on his sofa in his boxers, not having eaten, not having showered, just waiting for a message that never comes.

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually the situation gets to him.  Or all the pictures get to him.  Or Amy’s oh so tentative replies to his daily text messages get to him.

He’s not sure what it was.  But he can’t stand it, that they’re out there without him.  It was bad enough thinking Amy had run screaming back into Buddy’s arms because he’d fucked up – he’d been wrong after all. 

He can’t go through that again.

(And if he doesn’t do something, he _will_.  Amy’s a beautiful, brilliant woman – and D.C. is still such a dickfest that he has no doubt the vultures are already circling.  Seeing her with some douchebag Congressman or strategist, seeing her give away everything she _should_ give to Dan… he doesn’t want to see _his_ wife married to someone else).

He texts Amy’s Mom, says he’s going to come by the next day, he needs to have a serious talk with Amy, and is there a good time?

It goes… it goes better than that conversation had any right to.  He’d had a lot of time to think since Miriam was born and… and some of it made more sense than he’d initially been willing to admit.  Nothing Amy says comes as a surprise to him.  (Well, it startles him a little that she’d assumed he’d demand she have an abortion… seeing that certainty on her face, that he’d want nothing to do with her… it reminds him of that morning, in the worst way). 

And Amy clearly loves Miriam the same fierce way she loves him – unwillingly, fighting it every step of the way, but completely.  (Seeing it directed at another person makes him realise… it had been so obvious, all along, how she felt about him.  No wonder she did everything she could to hide it). 

But even though the conversation went well, even though Amy had agreed, theoretically, to let him back in, she still seems startled (in a good way) when he shows up at her door the next evening.

It’s pouring rain, and Amy’s trying to bring in groceries from the trunk of her car, while balancing Miriam in one hand and an umbrella in the other… it’s an accident waiting to happen, so he takes the bag out of her hand.  “Allow me,” he says, and Amy’s eyes fly up to his.

“What are you – I didn’t –”

“Maybe we can do this inside?” he says, taking the umbrella out of her other hand and holding it over her, so it actually provides some shelter.  (Not that there’s much point, really, she’s half way to drenched – but it makes him _seem_ caring).

“Right.”

When they get in the door Amy turns to look at him, seemingly baffled.  “What do you want?” she says, shifting Miriam in her arms.

“I’m here to help, Ame.”

“O-kay?”

“So sit, and I’ll bring the bags in.”

“ _Thank_ you,” she says, and her face is so relieved, so grateful, it’s wonderful for his ego.  “She cried everytime I put her down, and she’s been…difficult all day, and…”

“Yeah, sit,” Dan says, and takes her keys.  (Amy is so clearly exhausted, and she hates having to be domestic, it doesn’t come to her naturally at all).

He brings everything in in two trips, and pulls up a stool for Amy so she can sit and watch him unpack.  And it’s wonderful – the rain is storming down outside, he’s getting turned around and lost in Amy’s kitchen, and she’s feeding Miriam… and he can actually _see_ it, the way it relaxes them both, slowly, but visibly.  (Amy had said it was like sex, and clearly that was true in more ways than one).

“Didn’t you used to have a… a maid or something?”

“I… I did,” Amy says, heaving a sigh, “But…”

“But?”

“I really don’t want to get into this right now.”

“Just tell me.”

“Having a baby is expensive, and… maternity leave isn’t full pay so… it was something I _could_  cut back.”

“Right.  You don’t have like, Breaking Bad medical bills, do you?”

“No,” Amy says, “I’m just economising.  Don’t look at me like that – Sophie’s raising three kids on C _V_ S wages, it could be much worse.” 

He doesn’t like the way she chooses to emphasise the V, so he doesn’t answer.  Amy knows he has money after all – that’s probably _why_ she doesn’t want to talk about it.

It takes a few minutes, but Miriam falls asleep, and Amy says she’s going to put her down for the night and shower.  There’s something in her tone that makes him think she’s expecting him to leave, but he just nods. 

And when she’s gone, Dan takes out his phone and orders the biggest, cheesiest pizza he can think of, and a bottle of wine. 

He needs to ease Amy into it, he knows that – she’ll freak if she thinks he’s getting too close – and day two is not the time to push things… but he has this feeling…  She’s got to be pining for proper, adult conversation – it’s not like her family can give it to her, and a three month old baby certainly can’t.

So when she comes back into the living room, her hair damp and swirled around her head, he doesn’t start asking her how they’re going to manage this, and how much she wants him around, and should they maybe move into his apartment instead (it’s not as nice as Amy’s, but it _is_ bigger).  He pats the sofa beside him, lets her sit down (though she’s eyeing him suspiciously, an expression he’s been almost…nostalgic for, over the last year), and proceeds to talk about Danny Chung’s most recent manipulation of the public’s patriotism boner.

It works.  Or it works for a while.

But when the delivery arrives and Dan walks into the room with the wine and the pizza box, Amy looks at him like she would gladly remove his head from his body.  It’s not quite what he expected, but he’s hungry, so he opens the box on her dining table, and gestures for her to sit.

She’s seated, but with folded, _angry_ arms when he comes back with glasses.  She even ignores the wine he pours her, which he knows has to be hurting her, because she’s usually the first to dive into a drink.

So Dan does what he does best, takes a slice of pizza, and chews it as loudly and obnoxiously as humanly possible.  Amy only thinks she can be as stubborn as him. 

She’s still glaring at him when he takes a second slice, and so he says, “I’m not going to wait, so… you should grab it while it’s hot.”

“I don’t _want_ pizza.”

“Sure you don’t.  Have some – you’ll be amazed how happy you feel so quickly.”

“Dan!”

“What?”

Amy looks away from him, and says in an angry voice, “I’m trying to _lose_ the baby weight.”

“Oh, is that why you have nothing but spinach in your fridge?  No wonder you’re exhausted.”

“You know what they’ll all say when they see me, when they see anyone’s who just had a… she’s gone soft, 'used to be a seven now she’s a five, can’t think any more now she’s incubated.'  You said it often enough.  I am not falling into that fluffy brand new mother trap.”

He eyes her for a long moment, and finally she huffs in irritation and takes a slice.  (And she almost _moans_ the second she takes a bite, but he’s being a gentleman, so he ignores it).  “Amy, don’t be a moron.  Anyone who thinks you’ve gone soft is just a better target."

“That’s not the point.”  She’s still not looking at him.

“You’re feeding a whole other person.  Some complex carbohydrate might help with that from time to time.  And, if you think anyone’s going to be looking at you because of anything but your enormous new tits, you don’t know a goddamn thing.”

“Excuse me?” 

She always gets so self-conscious when people point out that she’s attractive, it’s odd.  “Don’t get me wrong, I had no complaints about them before, not a single one, I was very fond of them, but… gotta say, the Lara Croft look…it’s working for you.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m right.”

She laughs, and takes a second slice of pizza, and she lets him stay over that night, though she stays firmly on her side of the bed. 

It’s not quite a win, but he’ll take it.

  

* * *

 

 

Amy doesn’t call.

Amy doesn’t call, and she doesn’t text, and she doesn’t email.  He’d thought it was bad when she went radio silent after they left the White House, but if anything, this is worse.

It doesn’t matter.  Fuck her.  She thinks she can just hollow him out like that and he’ll come crawling back?  Since when has he been a pushover?

He lasts five weeks, and then one night Ruth, the Head of News, stops by his dressing room and flirts with him and… he smiles back and suggests they go for drinks sometime and the second she leaves him alone he orders an uber to Amy’s place. 

He’s not sure what he’s going to say, or how to start things off, but… he’s determined to remind her that he’s not just _hers_ , he can get another woman any time he wants, he’s not going to be waiting around forever the way she thinks. 

He paces up and down for a few minutes across the street, and is caught up short when he sees Buddy Calhoun leaving Amy’s building.  Especially when Amy comes running out a moment later, calling Buddy’s name.  She takes him by the hand and kisses his cheek, and doesn’t even _look_ across the street to where Dan is.

So he walks away.

It’s not like she hadn’t warned him.  She’d told him that this was exactly what would happen.

He stops checking his phone every five minutes and decides to focus on work.  Flirting with Ruth might lead to something after all, and it’s not like she isn’t hot.  She’s older than him, and there’s some vaguely tragic backstory that he doesn’t really give a shit about, and when, a month or so later, she suggests the news team go out for margaritas, Dan jumps at the chance.

Which is when Amy calls, naturally.

And he… he’s _pissed_.  He has a good thing going here with Ruth, a thing that could lead to something permanent, and _now_ is the time she decides to waltz back into his life.  Fuck her.

Her voice sounds kind of weird, like she’s having to work to keep it steady.

_I need to tell you something._

He’s not interested.  He’s going to flirt with Ruth all night, and outlast his colleagues, and maybe take her home (or let her take him home, whatever works).

He’s not interested, and he’s sarcastic with her, and she hangs up on him almost immediately.  And when, a month or two later, he starts to hear gossip that Amy’s knocked up, he realises why she’d called. 

She was back with Buddy and having his child and she didn’t want Dan to hear it from someone else.  She wanted him to _know_ that she really had moved on, just like she told him she would.  She’d wanted to hear his voice when he realised he could _never_ have her. 

It’s what he would do.

(And then, because she was Amy, and she wasn’t a complete sadist, she’d thought better of it and hung up). 

  

* * *

 

 

After three weeks of Dan showing up at her door every night, Amy caved and gave him a key to her apartment.  (The snippy text messages he’d sent her every time she wasn’t there to let him in probably helped)

He suspects it would have taken longer, but she’s back at work now, and fucking exhausted.  The logistics of Miriam’s day care make running media events look easy, and she still won’t let him pay for a nanny or au pair or something. 

She won’t let him pay for anything, and it is beginning to seriously piss him off.  (If he’s going to look like some useless douchebag deadbeat, he’d like it to be by choice).

But he’s got to pick his battles, and the way Amy collapses into bed like a rock each night makes him think that now is not the time.  And it’s frustrating as hell, being so close to her and not being able to touch her.

But the key is a good sign.

(And the way she stares at him, when she thinks he can’t see, is a better one.)

He feels utterly useless.  He can’t touch her, he can’t fuck her, he can’t pay for anything, and every time he holds Miriam he feels like he might accidentally kill her.  She’s so goddamn _tiny_ , and Dan can’t work out how to speak to her even.

(Amy talks to Miriam like she’s a particularly badly behaved puppy, and hauls her around like a sack of flour, and Miriam… doesn’t seem to mind?  She’s always looking for Amy, turns her head around to look for her whenever anyone else holds her, and it makes him want to just give her right back, because what is even the point?)

(Amy thinks he’s being ridiculous.  Amy points out that every time Dan holds Miriam she tries to grab for his face, which apparently is a sign or something.  She tends to dump Miriam on him at a moment’s notice, and it’s weirdly nice, holding her against his chest and letting her play with his tie.  At least, it’s nice until Miriam realises Amy is more than three feet away from her and starts crying, or spits up on his shirt).

He’s working the morning shows now, so he’s home ahead of Amy (he’s spent maybe three nights in his apartment in the last month, and, weirdly, he doesn’t miss it, though he hates the smell of all the baby stuff).  Which means he’s sitting on the sofa, checking his phone, when she walks in one evening in a towering fury.

He’s not sure exactly _what_ has got her so riled up – Doyle has teamed up with Furlong to do something that negatively impacts on the new Speaker’s plans, which has ruined Amy’s work in some way she’s too angry to explain properly. 

For once something is going wrong in her life that has nothing to do with him, so he smirks and lets her rant. 

She’s put Miriam – still in her car seat – down on the table, and she’s walking up and down, swearing she will bring down great rage and furious anger on Doyle, she’ll primary him so hard his _wife_ will prefer the other candidate, and Dan can’t help it… he snickers.  (He’s always loved seeing her like this).

“Is this _funny_ to you?”

“Oh,” he says, looking her up and down, “Extremely.”

Amy takes a deep breath, staring at him, and he smiles an irritating little smile at her.  

“Asshole.”

“Yeah.”

“Prick.”

“Yeah.”

“Fucking… stop _smiling_.”

“No.”

“What do you even have to smile about, I want to rip your head off.”

“No, you don’t.”  Amy makes a sound of helpless frustration, and she’s still gazing at him, and Dan lowers his voice just a little.  “I’m smiling because…”

“Because?”

There’s a pause, and he decides to give her the truth.   “You’re beautiful.”

Amy actually _rocks_ , back on her heels, like he’s elbowed her in the chest.  “Shut up.”

“You never wondered why people – why I – liked to piss you off so much?”

“Stop it."

He doesn’t get why she’s so thrown by him saying it.  “Make me.”

“I… _Fine_.”

And then she’s climbing on top of him, hiking her skirt up around her hips, and pulling his face by the chin so she can kiss him properly, and he can’t get her clothes off fast enough, and Amy bites his lip, hard, and Dan starts laughing, he can’t help it.  She glares at him and he laughs harder. 

Finally she pokes him in the chest, and he gets back to more important things, like kissing her, and letting her guide his hand into her panties,.  He fingers her, and Amy arches her back, whimpering and saying, “Dan, _please_ , she’ll wake up soon, you have to _hurry_.”

“You only had to ask, honey.”

It’s the first time she’s touched him, really touched him, since the night he confronted her about Miriam, and it’s fast and frantic and messy.  Her hair, so much longer than it used to be, keeps falling into his face, and she’s breathing so heavily the top button of her blouse pops open, and when she sinks down onto his dick, she makes…the strangest face he’s ever seen on a woman during sex, and says, “Oh thank god.”

But he doesn’t question it, there’s no time, and Amy’s pleading with him, to go faster, to go harder, and he rests his hands on the base of her spine and pushes and pushes and pushes…

And then she collapses on to him, gasping in his ear, and he fucks her through her orgasm. 

She rests her head on his shoulder afterwards, and Dan strokes her back.  He can actually feel her heartrate slow down, and he waits until she seems recovered before asking, “What was that?”

“Sex, Dan, I think you’ve had it before.”

“Yes, thank you.  I meant the… when we started, you –”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Amy, I was there.  I saw your face.  What was that?”

“You’re going to be weird about this, I just know it.”  He doesn’t say anything, but keeps staring at her, and she gives up.  “Sophie said…” 

(Dan’s mind reels in a horrible direction for a moment – it never crossed his mind that they might compare notes.)

Amy bites her lip, and, absently, he smooths it over with his thumb.  “Sophie said it might hurt.”

“What?”

“She said the first time, after having… she said it might hurt.”

(Dan knows two things.  He loathes Amy’s sister, hates the way she purposefully goes out of her way to hurt Amy, and that is something that he should never, ever say).  (He doesn’t need Amy to tell him it’s hypocritical).  (So he doesn’t ask why Amy ever listens to _anything_ Sophie says, or call her any of the many names that spring to mind).

“But it didn’t,” Amy continues, looking at him carefully.  “It felt just the same, and I just… I was just relieved.”

“Right.”

“You’re going to be weird.”

“No.”

“I can see it in your face.”

“Well, yeah, Ame, I am, jesus.  You thought it might hurt you, and you didn’t… warn me?  I could have done something about it.”

She looks extremely put upon.  “I didn’t _know_.  And it was fine.”

“Good.  But for future reference, when I fuck you, I don’t want to have to worry that you’re moaning for any other reason than my cock feeling just that good in you.”

“All right, all right, jesus.”

“No,” he says, enjoying himself.  “You don’t get to do that.  You’re wrong and you know it.  Don’t do it again – fucking tell me this stuff.”

“Okay,” she says, in a small voice. 

“So, that’s why you’ve been so stand-offish?”

“I haven’t been –”

“Two days ago I touched you and you jumped so hard you broke a plate.”

“Fine, yes, it’s why.”  She rolls her eyes and climbs off him.

It’s not the _entire_ reason, Dan knows, but it’s a relief to know all the same.  They have sex again that night – and the next morning – and Amy lets him wrap his arm around her for a whole minute – and things are looking up.

 

* * *

 

 

He’s been dating Ruth for three months, give or take, and it’s going well.  He’s being assigned juicier interviews and longer slots – they’re talking about how they’ll use him to cover the midterms – and really, dating her is the best decision he’s made in years.

He’s meeting her for drinks – she has something that she wants to tell him – and he’s waiting for her when he sees Amy, sitting across a table from fucking _Buddy_ and smiling. 

He watches them for a few minutes, and he shouldn’t, because it’s fucking unbearable.  Amy is smiling, sweetly, and the tension that’s been in her almost as long as he’s known her is gone, and she is gorgeous, shining under Buddy’s eyes, pregnancy clearly suiting her down to the ground, and it makes him so goddamn _angry_.

Why did she have to do it?  Why couldn’t she have just waited a little longer, let him talk her round, the way he always had before?  That could, that should have been _them_ , and instead she’s having a baby with spineless John Wayne, and he’s stuck wasting his time with…

It was supposed to be _him_.  She should have known that, she should have admitted that, and now it never can be, and Dan feels something savage surge up through his throat, and so he interrupts them.

Even moments later he can’t remember what he said to her, but he knows it worked, because Amy hauls him out on to the street and screams in his face. 

She still loves him.

He wouldn’t be able to enrage her so much if she didn’t still love him and that… that helps, at least a little.  Besides, she doesn’t get to be self-righteous, the whole thing is her fault, if she hadn’t jumped right onto the nearest dick just because he’d pissed her off, things wouldn’t have…

Things would be better.

Amy storms away, and when Ruth joins him at the bar he lets her talk about the meetings she had with CNN without really listening to anything she says.  And when she gives him a moment to talk, he says the first thing that springs to mind.

“Let’s get married.”

 

* * *

 

 

Neither of them really wants to, but they go for lunch with Amy’s parents one Sunday. 

It is excruciating.

Amy’s never fully herself around her parents – she doesn’t swear, she tries to keep her voice low, she shrinks, almost – and what with her father still loathing Dan on general principle, it’s a tense meal.  And while Miriam’s presence helps a little, softening her grandfather up, it’s still one of the more awkward meals Dan has ever had.  (Not as awkward as Christmas dinner with his brother the year Dan slept with his fiancé, mind you, but close).

When they get up to leave, Amy’s Dad says, “Sweetheart, I forgot to tell you, we ran into Brian Edwards the other day.”

“Oh,” Amy says dismissively, trying to tuck Miriam into her pram.

“Yeah, and he was so interested to hear about you – about the White House and the baby.”

“I bet he was.”  There’s something in Amy’s tone that catches Dan’s attention.

“Well, he gave me his card, and he said you should call him, and you two can…catch up.”

He’s actually trying to set Amy up with another man, when Dan is standing right fucking there.  Credit where it’s due, it’s a ballsy move. 

Amy smiles a tight little smile, and takes the card, and then they’re leaving, and struggling to get the pram into his car (they always use his car now, since it’s bigger), and she’s trying to put Miriam into the car seat (it’s like trying to get an octopus into a string bag, so she’s distracted), and it’s only when they’ve both gotten in that Dan asks, “So, who’s _Brian Edwards_?”

“No one, just someone I used to know.”

“Someone your Dad wants you to go on a date with.”

“You know he just said that to piss you off, right?”

“Yeah, and it’s working.”

“Well, that’s your problem.”

“Ame, come on.”

They’ve been together (well, that’s what Dan calls it in his head, he hasn’t called it anything out loud) for three months now, and Amy’s Dad needs to accept it, he’s not going anywhere.  (Like he’d sit through that fucking torment again).

“He’s the son of one of my Dad’s friends.  Someone he used to get a beer with.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Well there must be something more to it if he’s so fucking eligible.”

“He’s not, and I don’t care, why are you being –”

“Your Dad seemed to think he was.”

“My Dad doesn’t know everything.”

“He knows everything about _me_.”

“That has nothing to do with me,” Amy says, a dangerous tone in her voice.  “It’s not my fault Sophie can’t keep her mouth shut.”

(Okay, _that_ is the third rail in their relationship, and he still hasn’t found a way to talk to her about it.  He’s never going to joke about it again, that’s for sure, he’s learned that the hard way).

“Well who is he?”

“He… we dated, for a while, when I was a teenager… he was helping me with debate prep.”  She catches Dan’s eye and adds, “He was older.”

“Of course he fucking was.”  (She does have a type).

“Anyway, the part Dad doesn’t know is…don’t ever mention this, please, it’ll just upset him, and then I’ll have to spend hours making him feel better, is… he was the… he’s the first… it was the first time I…”

“How old _were_ you exactly?”

Amy looks at her hands.  “Fifteen.  Almost.”

She shrieks when the car swerves, and Miriam hears and starts to cry, and it takes whole minutes to calm her down.  Finally, Amy looks at Dan and says, “Are you okay to drive, princess?”

“I don’t know – I’m…your Dad would set me up with a fucking child rapist before me?”

“That’s not – that’s not what happened.”

“Yeah?  How old was he?”

“Nineteen.”  She catches his look of disbelief, and shrugs.  “Dad doesn’t know about any of this.”

“Well maybe you should tell him – tell dear Daddy he’s trying to set you up with a sexual predator.”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion,” she says, and she looks strangely…defensive.

“You were fourteen years old – no, I’m not.  That’s a child.  And it was terrible, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but… the first time, for women, is always terrible.  Doesn’t matter what age.”

“Is that what you’ve been telling yourself all this time?  No one’s going to treat Miriam like that, let me tell you that right now, they wouldn’t _dare,_ I won’t let them.”

Amy looks sad.  “Yes, they will.  And she has to be…prepared for that.”

“No, she’s _my_ fucking kid, people are going to fall all over her everywhere she goes, there’s not a chance of her being –”

“Oh,” Amy says.  “Oh I see.  Miriam’s so special no man would ever treat her badly, is that what you’re saying?”

“You’re damn right.”

“So when you… when _you_ treated me like that, when you fucked me over, all those times, that was because what, I _wasn’t_ special enough?”

“That’s not what I – that’s not what I meant.”

“It’s what you said.  You think there’s some massive difference?  You’re exactly the same as him – you took what you wanted, and you didn’t give a shit what it did to me.”

Amy only seems to hear what she’s said, to understand the implication, after she’s spoken, and her face pales.  There’s a long, dreadful pause, and finally she says, “I did _not_ mean that the way it sounded.”

Dan flexes his hands on the steering wheel, because the only other option is finding this ‘Brian Edwards’ and punching him in the face, and that’s not practical right now.  He can’t believe Amy would ever compare them – and it’s a punch in the gut that she might be right.

“Yes,” he says, “You did.  Could be you’re not wrong.” 

He thinks about adding ‘And maybe you _aren’t_ special enough’ but he gets a flash of Amy’s face, stricken with pain the way it was that morning, and thinks better of it.  He doesn’t even want to say it because it’s true – he wants to say it because it’d hurt her.

But Amy clearly hears what he hadn’t said, or at least suspects his meaning, because suddenly she’s getting out of the car, fumbling with the seatbelt and grabbing her handbag. 

“Fuck _you_ , Dan,” she says, and slams the door closed.  

It’s the first time she’s left him alone with Miriam.

Which… is fine, he can handle a six month old. 

(He absolutely cannot handle a six month old, not without Amy, he’s petrified).

He drives back to Amy’s apartment, and eventually manages to get Miriam out of her car seat and inside.  And then he doesn’t know what to do.

He tries calling Amy, though he suspects it’s pointless.  If she was angry enough to get out of the car, she’s definitely angry enough to screen his calls.  And all the while, he’s trying to comfort Miriam, shifting her from arm to arm (because she’s actually surprisingly heavy, when you have to hold her from any actual length of time).  She keeps looking around her, looking for Amy, Dan thinks, and he doesn’t know what he to do, so he feeds her.

He’d always let Amy handle Miriam’s day-to-day needs, preferring to handle everything _not_ baby-related.  It seemed less risky.

But he’s watched her do it enough times that he has a sense of what the routine is – at five o’clock he feeds Miriam some of that repulsive-smelling goop she eats, and at six thirty he changes her diaper (which is _revolting_ , no two ways about it), and since that started her off crying, between six thirty and seven thirty he walks her up and down, rocking her gently in his arms (and feeling like he might have another panic attack if she doesn’t stop crying soon).

He gets her to bed eventually – though he has to sit by the crib for a while before she’ll actually relax and go to sleep.  It weirds him out, actually, the moment Miriam stops crying and starts to calm herself down, because he’s seen that expression before – that’s _Amy’s_ expression, every time she was trying not to look devastated or frustrated or angry, that drawing in and shutting down of feeling, it’s as familiar to him as his own face, and there’s something eerie in seeing it on someone who’s not Amy.

When she’s finally asleep, he walks out and finds Amy sitting at the dining table. 

He wants to scream at her, but the cool way she’s looking at him makes it clear that would be the wrong move, so all he says is, “You could have answered your phone.”

“I didn’t want to,” she says.  “I really didn’t want to talk to you at all.”

“So why did you come back then?”

“You know perfectly well why.”  The still, quiet voice she’s using makes him uneasy – Amy should be passionate and loud and furious with him.  Chilliness… from her, chilly calm is never a good sign.  “You don’t get to go off in a jealous snit because I once had sex with someone who wasn’t you.  You just don’t.”

“That’s not what –”

“Horseshit it’s not.  And so you know, since you’re so interested, it _was_ terrible.  He was my first boyfriend, and my first kiss, and I was curious, so I did it.  And it was… it felt like something he was doing _to_ me, it wasn’t good, I didn’t enjoy it at all, but he was my boyfriend, so I kept doing it.”

“Jesus, Amy.”

“And then Sophie got pregnant – the first time – and it kind of… it freaked me out, and I told him I didn’t want to do it anymore, and he got pissed and he dumped me.  Apparently if I _really_ loved him  I would just do whatever he wanted.  So, I told him fine, clearly I didn’t really love him."

"That's my girl."

"I wasn't being smart, Dan, I was... it was just true.  I didn’t have sex again until college.  Because you’re right, fourteen is way too young, and I _wasn’t_ ready, and I wish, I wish that I’d known that.  But I have no intention of ever seeing him again.  Does that make you feel better you shitfuck?”

She’s looking at the table, not at Dan, and her voice… it doesn’t sound angry, or sad, the way it probably should.  He reaches out, and touches her hand, and when she moves as if to snatch it back, he grabs her wrist, not letting her go.

“Amy.  Amy, look at me.”

“That’s what Miriam’s going to have to deal with, you know – people like that, people like you.”

“I know.”  She meets his eyes, finally, clearly startled.  “Amy… I hate that that happened to you.  I hate that it wasn’t good – that it wasn’t someone who made it good for you.”

“You hate that someone hurt me?”  Amy starts laughing.  “You’re hilarious.”

“Very funny.  I don’t…” 

It’s hard to put in to words – he keeps picturing Amy, fourteen years old and adorable, smiling that shy smile she has at some asshole, and it fills him with a kind of rage. 

“I don’t like thinking about it.  You know, when I had sex the first time –”

“Spare me.”

“It was nice – is what I was going to say.  My sister’s friend – she came to stay over spring break and… showed me what to do.  It made me want to have sex _more_ , not…  I _hate_ that that happened to you.”

“You almost sound like you mean that,” Amy says, and she squeezes his fingers, so he knows she’s teasing him.  But this is too important, so instead of his usual jokes, he just says, “I do.”

Her face twists, like she thinks he’s mocking her, and she says, “All of this… it’s why I hope she’s more like you.  Too tough to be stupid that way.”

“Oh, I think you’re pretty tough, sweetheart.”

“No, Dan,” she says, and now she really does look sad.  “I’m really not.  I never have been.”

“Come here.” He pulls her by the arm, and she resists for a moment, before standing, and letting him pull her to sit on his knee.

They’ve had sex – they’ve been having sex – almost every night since the day she jumped him, but every time, she’s rolled away afterwards.  She lets him touch her, lets him stroke her, but she hasn’t once reciprocated.  He'd think she doesn’t _want_ him to hold her, except he knows that’s not true, never has been true, so it’s clearly something else. 

(He’d thought about saying “I’m not your fucking dildo,” the last few times, but then she might stop fucking him, and he’s not about to give that up.)

He wraps his arms around her waist, and she rests her head on his shoulder (he thinks because it means she doesn’t have to look at him).  “Did you get her to sleep all right?”

He snorts.  “It’s definitely a good thing she doesn’t understand language yet, put it that way.  How did you do it on your own for so long?”

Amy laughs softly.  “Dan, by three weeks in, I honestly thought I was going to lose my mind.  It’s really hard, and _lonely_.”

“But you didn’t.  You’re so...calm with her.”

“Well, I got used to it, a little.  And going back to work helped.  But mostly, it’s because you showed up and wouldn’t fucking leave.”

“Having someone to carry heavy things for you must really help, yeah.”

“Not that.”  Amy makes a frustrated face.  “ _You_.  Being here, with me.  I don't understand, why are you letting this get to you so much, you’re not usually lacking in confidence.”

“I don’t like your Dad.”

“News flash,” she says, “He’s not that fond of you either.  He was _trying_ to piss you off, because, surprise, surprise, he thinks you’re going to fuck me over and leave.”

“But you don’t think that?”

Amy shrugs.  “I don’t know.  But if you haven’t noticed by now, I kind of like having you around.  I had your fucking kid.  You can’t possibly think _I’m_ going to ditch _you._   I mean, you know how I…”

It clicks, then.  That’s why she won’t let him pay for Miriam’s day care, or for a cleaner, or for them to move to an apartment that’s actually big enough for all of them.  That’s why she’ll argue with him and laugh with him and fuck him, but never let him hold her.  She’s waiting for him to dump her for a better option (and, hoping, maybe, that when he does, he’ll care enough about Miriam – through exposure, if nothing else – that he won’t completely abandon them).

There’s nothing he can say to change her mind – nothing he can _say_ that will make her trust him.  Amy’s too smart, too familiar with him – she knows all his tricks. 

But they can’t keep living like this – Dan knows himself well enough to realise that he won’t be satisfied with this half-in half-out life, not forever.

Still, there’s one thing he can do. 

One thing she won’t expect.

  

* * *

 

 

Ruth takes their engagement in her stride in a way he didn’t anticipate.  When he’d proposed before, his girlfriend had giggled and laughed and cried with joy, and bored him for a full two months with plans for their wedding. 

But Ruth’s been married before – though her husband was killed while embedded with the 86th Marine Corps – and the flurry of excitement he’d expected doesn’t come.  She’s distracted and focused on work, and in a way that’s a relief – he doesn’t feel up to the effort of faking enthusiasm.

The best moment of their entire engagement is when Amy visits him at the CBS studios, and realises he has a fiancé, and even that is tainted.  Amy reacts as he’d expected, only more so.  For a moment or two she actually looks like she’s going to faint, right there at his feet.

Even at seven months pregnant, she’s still stunning – more so, in some ways.  There’s a confidence in her movements, in her bearing now, that she didn’t have before, and suddenly he misses her, low down in his heart. 

She laughs a tinkling little laugh, and gives Ruth a smile so wide it’s almost manic, and then she all but runs out of the room.  Ruth stares at him.  “What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know – maybe she really was tired.”

“Go after her, for – she could fall,” Ruth says, and Dan nods and leaves (glad, in a way, that she’d ordered him to do what he already wanted).  Amy’s got a start on him, but he’s faster, and he catches up with her just outside the building.

She has tears in her eyes, and she’s screaming at him, and she’s so angry, so much more angry than she should be if she’s happily settled with Buddy, that some instinct makes him ask if she really did have something to tell him – though, of course, being him, he asks in a way that just makes her angrier.

He has a sinking feeling.

_I need to tell you something._

But she’d have told him.  Wouldn’t she?

She would definitely have told him.  Almost definitely.

Ruth asks him about it that night, why Amy was so upset, why she ran out of the building like it was on fire, why she’d made such a point of coming to see him.  He doesn’t have any good answers for her, and so he kisses her and hopes he can distract her with sex until he’s worked out what he even thinks.

Because Amy would definitely have told him.

(And the fact that the timing lines up is… just a coincidence.  Has to be).

Ruth has sex with him happily enough, and when they’ve finished, she curls in to his side, and says, “You know, this has all been so fast – faster maybe than we should have… but I really do love you.”

He kisses the top of her head, and doesn’t tell her what he’s thinking.  Because, no, she doesn’t.  If she loved him, she’d be afraid of him, she’d hide herself from him, she wouldn’t take the risk.

Amy hadn’t, after all.

Two weeks later, Ruth tells him she’s been offered a better position at CNN, and she’s going to take it.  When he dumps her – because of course he dumps her, she can’t do shit for him at CNN – she just looks sad, and says, “This is because of Amy Brookheimer, isn’t it?”

It’s not.  (It is). 

Dan lets her think so – it’s probably mildly less hurtful than the real reason – and wonders what Ruth saw, in that two minute exchange, that he didn’t, because she seems absolutely certain.

It has to all be a coincidence.  Has to be. 

Amy’s hidden from him before, but never something like this. 

She would definitely have told him.

  

* * *

 

 

They get married in Vegas.

It’s tacky as hell, but Amy hates shopping, flowers, having to spend long periods of time with her family and being judged for her looks, so Dan’s relatively certain that a big event wedding is the last thing she would ever want.  Besides, an engagement wouldn’t work – she knows that for him fiancés are disposable, so giving her a diamond ring won’t convince her he’s serious.

It’s the first time in longer than he can remember that he’s surprised her with something good, something that makes her _happy_.

Because she is happy, he can tell, she’s radiant – staring at him, and staring at the ring on her finger (and on his finger), and not fully knowing what to say. 

It takes Dan buying her dinner, getting her drunk on champagne, and actually carrying her over the threshold of their hotel room, before she gets back to normal.  (Amy mocks him for it, but he knows her well enough to know that she secretly _loves_ the romantic gesture, even if he will never, ever get her to admit it).

They call his parents – who all but have a stroke – and they call her parents, who are…her father is unsurprised, and at least somewhat accepting, and her mother, her mother is genuinely happy for them.  And Amy, Amy’s voice actually burbles with happiness when she’s talking to them, telling them that she’s married to Dan now.  (It's not that she’s _married_ , Dan knows, Amy’s never particularly cared about that, it’s certainly never been one of her ambitions.  It’s that she’s married to _him_ ).

He hurries her off the phone, because he can’t stand to watch her much longer, he needs to touch her, and they spend the next twenty-four hours exploring all the flat or soft surfaces their hotel room has to offer. 

The next day, round about noon, Dan’s lying on his back, trying to catch his breath, watching Amy eat the chocolate sundae she’d had room service deliver.  (Her mouth will be sticky and sweet with it later, when he kisses her, and he can’t wait).  When she’s finished – and he can’t look at the way she licks the chocolate sauce off her fingers – she comes to lie on top of him, pushing him into a new position so that she’s comfortable, and playing with the fingers of his right hand.

“I like this trip to Nevada a lot better than our last one,” she says, swinging one of her feet in the air.  He’s not sure what to say and it must show, because she continues.  “I’m not trying to get at you, asshole, I just…”

“No,” he says, “It’s definitely better.”

Amy smiles at him, involuntarily, completely, and he sees Miriam’s uncontrolled, babyish joy reflected in her for a moment.  “I’m going to give you a little gift right now – which you don’t deserve – but I might as well tell you.  You’ll probably find out soon anyway.”

“Tell me what?”

“That night, in Carson City, when you –”

“Amy, I really don’t want to –”

“Shut up and listen,” she says, and he does love it when she gets bossy, so he does.  “You kind of freaked me out in the bar, and I… I was too nervous to say what I really wanted, but –”

“I’m an asshole, I get it, I should have just not –”

“Listen to me.  When I got back to my hotel room that night, I thought about…everything, and I realised I should just go for it.  So I texted you.”

“What?  No, you didn’t, I would remember.”

“No, I know that.  I accidentally sent them to the wrong person.  But I didn’t realise until weeks later, and the next day, when you…I thought you knew.  I thought you knew and you’d just…decided you’d rather…”

Amy’s still nestled against him, but she’s talking into his chest, not looking at him.  Which is good, because Dan’s rapidly thinking through everything that happened that day, and…  “Jesus, Amy, why didn’t you just hit me?”

She snorts.  “It’s not like I didn’t think about it.  Anyway, that was why I was so…I thought you knew.”

He tilts her chin up with one hand.  “Amy, even I’m not that much of a bastard.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

No wonder she’d avoided him for months on end, no wonder she’d held him distant for so long, no wonder she’d gone fucking nuclear when he taunted her about it.

“Well, I wish I had got them.”

“Please,” she says, and slaps his face very gently.  “It’s not like it would have made any difference.”

Oh no, this he does not the patience for, not even close.  “Amy, we’re _married_ now.  To each other.  Which means you know perfectly well that it would have made a difference.  So shut the fuck up.”

She leans in, close to his ear, and says, “Make me.”

He laughs – and does.

 

* * *

  

When they get back to D.C, Amy’s parents insist on throwing them a drinks reception.  (Her Mom had initially wanted a big, formal event, but Dan had, eventually managed to talk her out of it).

It’s not as terrible as it could have been. 

Sophie comes, but she doesn’t say anything awful, and her oldest daughter actually seems happy for her aunt.  (Amy mentions something about her father being a fairly decent guy, which may explain things).   Dan manages not to antagonise Amy’s Dad – at least no more than he already does by existing in the general vicinity of his daughters – and there are so many D.C. people there that it offers the perfect chance to network.

At least, it does until he hears Miriam crying.

There were so many people – and at least half of them eager to hold the baby – that Dan had rather lost track of where she was (and of where Amy was), and it takes him a moment or two to find her.

No one likes being around crying babies – _he_ certainly doesn’t (Miriam is his kid and all, but that doesn’t make the sound of her crying any more bearable) – and Amy was in the midst of a deep discussion with the DNC Chair, so Dan knows he needs to fix this one. 

When he sees who’s holding her, he knows exactly what the problem was.

Why anyone would give a baby to the Big Fuckboy Giant he doesn’t know, but someone had, and Miriam was _not_ happy, struggling to get away from Jonah as much as a ten month old could.  Jonah naturally was insisting in the loudest voice Dan had ever heard that he was good with babies, that Miriam was crying because she liked him, and that it was everyone else’s fault, because they’d upset her.

When he steps into Miriam’s eye line she starts squirming more, wanting Dan to hold her, (wanting to get the hell away from Jonah), and he glares at Jonah, “Would you mind not scaring the shit out of my kid?”

He doesn’t wait for a response, just holds his hands out, and Jonah passes her over.  The moment she’s in Dan’s hands, Miriam starts to calm the fuck down, though he can still hear a wobble in her breathing that means she might start shrieking again if someone upsets her. 

“I didn’t do anything to her,” Jonah says (who still doesn’t realise you shouldn’t talk so loudly around a baby) and Miriam hides her face in Dan’s shoulder.  She doesn’t even lift her head when Amy joins them, just snuggles even closer.

“Well then it just must be you,” Dan says, patting Miriam’s back.  “She sees your mutant face and wants to get away – like mother, like daughter.”

“She’s used to people who are human size,” Amy says.  “You can’t blame her for being afraid of you – it’s her survival instinct kicking in.”

“That’s not true,” Jonah says, leaning down to look in Miriam’s face.  “She just doesn’t know me yet.”

And Miriam hits him.

Dan has never _, never_ been so proud of anyone who wasn’t him, in his whole life.  It’s more of a flail than a proper hit, but who cares, it’s enough to knock Jonah’s glasses off.  (When Jonah reacts, instinctively, to the hit by flinching, Miriam leans back into Dan again, apparently sure he’ll protect her from the monster).

He knows that, really, if he was any proper type of parent, he would try to teach her not to hit people.

But he’s not.  He strokes Miriam’s hair, grins, and says, “I take it back, Jonah.  Like father, like daughter.”

Miriam leans her head against him wearily and sucks her thumb.  She’ll sleep soon, Dan can feel the tiredness in her body, and that’ll be a nightmare, trying to put her to bed with all these people around.  But Amy laughs, and stretches up to kiss him, and when the entire room applauds (it’s a celebration after all), Miriam laughs too, delighted with the sudden attention.

Like father, like daughter.

 


End file.
